THE POEMS 

OF 

RICHARD WATSON GILDER 




BOSTON AND NEW YORK 

HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 

(ilte BiberiJibe ^xe^^ <Cambrit)0e 

1908 



LIBRARY of Ou.-vbrttbbl 
Two Copies Received 

OCT 30 1908 

- Copyright Entry ^ 
CLASS CX, VXC, No, 



COPY 3. 






COPYRIGHT 1875, 187S, 1880, 1885, 1887, 1891, 1893, 1S94, 189s, 1896, 
1897, '89Sj 1900, I9OI, 1905, 1907, 1908, BY RICHARD WATSON GILDER 



ALL RIGHTS RESERVED 



Published October iqo8 



CONTENTS 

THE NEW DAY 

PRELUDE 3 

PART I 

I— Sonnet 4 

II — Sonnet 4 

III — "A BARREN STRETCH THAT SLANTS TO THE SALT 

sea's gray" 5 

IV — Hesitation. (A Portrait) 5 

V — Love grown Bold 6 

INTERLUDE 6 

PART II 

I — Words without Song 7 

II— The Traveler 7 

III — "Come to me ye who suffer" . . . \ . . 8 
IV — Written on a Fly-Leaf of "Shakespeare's 

Sonnets" 9 

V — "And were that best!" 9 

VI— "There is nothing new under the sun" . . lo 

VII — Love's Cruelty ii 

INTERLUDE ii 

PART III 

I — "The pallid watcher of the eastern skies" 12 

II — "My love for thee doth march like armed ^ 

men" 12 

III — "What would I save thee from?" .... 13 

IV — "What would I win thee to?" 13 

V — "I WILL BE BRAVE FOR thee" 14 

VI — "Love me not, Love, for that I first loved 

thee" 14 



VI CONTENTS 

VII — Body and Soul : — 

I — "O THOU MY Love, love first my 

LONELY soul!" 15 

II — "But, Love, forme thy body was 

THE first" 15 

VIII — "Thy lover. Love, would have some 

nobler way" 16 

IX — Love's Jealousy i6 

X — Love's Monotone 17 

XI — "Once Only" 17 

XII — Denial 18 

XIII — "Once when we walked within a sum- 

mer field" 18 

XIV — Song: "I LOVE her gentle forehead". 19 
XV — Listening to Music 19 

XVI — "A song of the maiden morn" .... 20 

XVII — Words in Absence 20 

XVIII — Song: "The birds were singing" ... 21 

XIX — Thistle-Down 21 

XX — " O SWEET wild roses THAT BUD AND BLOW ! " 22 

XXI — The River 22 

XXII — The Lover's Lord and Master .... 23 

XXIII — Song: "My love grew" 23 

XXIV — "A NIGHT OF STARS AND DREAMS" ... 24 

XXV — A Birthday Song 24 

XXVI — "What can love do for thee, Love?" . 25 

XXVII — "The smile of her I love" 25 

XXVIII — Francesca and Paolo 26 

XXIX — The Unknown Way 26 

XXX — The Sower 27 

XXXI— "When the last doubt is doubted" . . 28 

INTERLUDE 29 



♦ PART IV 

I — Song: "Love, Love, MY love" 30 

II — The Mirror 30 

III — Likeness in Unlikeness 30 

IV — Song: " Not from the whole wide world " 31 
V — All in One 31 



CONTENTS vii 

VI — '*I COUNT MY TIME BY TIMES THAT I MEET 

THEE " 32 

VII — Song: "Years have flown" 32 

VIII — The Seasons 32 

IX — "Summer's rain and winter's snow" • - . 33 

X — The Violin 33 

XI — "O MIGHTY RIVER, TRIUMPHING TO THE SEA" . 34 

XII — "My songs are all of thee" 35 

XIII — After Many Days 35 

XIV — Weal and Woe 36 

XV — "O, Love is not a summer mood" .... 36 

XVI — "Love is not bond to any man" .... 37 

XVII — "He knows not the path of duty" ... 37 

AFTER-SONG 38 

THE CELESTIAL PASSION 

PRELUDE 41 

PART I 

Art and Life 41 

The Poet and his Master 43 

Mors Triumphalis 45 

The Master-Poets 49 

PART II 

A Christmas Hymn 49 

Easter 50 

A Madonna of Era Lippo Lippi 52 

Cost 52 

The Song of a Heathen (sojourning in Galilee, a. d. 32) 53 

Holy Land 53 

On a Portrait of Servetus . 54 

"Despise not thou" 54 

"To rest from weary work" 55 

PART III 

Recognition 55 

Hymn sung at the Presentation of the Obelisk to 

the City OF New York, February 22, 1881 ... 57 



Vlll CONTENTS 

A Thought 58 

The Voice of the Pine * • 59 

Morning, Noon, and Night 6o' 

''Day unto day uttereth speech" 61 

PART IV 

The Soul 61 

"When Love dawned" 62 

Love and Death: — 

I — "Now WHO can take from us what we have 

known" 62 

II — "We know not where they tarry who have 

died" 63 

Father and Child 63 

"Beyond the branches of the pine" 64 

An Autumn Meditation 64 

"Call me not dead" 66 

"Each moment holy is" 66 

"When to sleep I must" 66 

To A Departed Friend. (J. G. H.) 67 

"The Evening Star" 67 

Life: — 

I — "Great Universe — what dost thou with thy 

dead!" 68 

II — "Ah, thou wilt never answer to our call" . 68 

The Freed Spirit 69 

Undying Light: — 

I — "When in the golden western summer skies " 69 

II — "O Thou the Lord and Maker of life and 

light!" 70 

LYRICS 

PART I 

Ode 73 

A Song of Early Summer 75 

A Midsummer Song 76 

"On the wild rose tree" 77 

"Beyond all beauty is tete unknown grace" ... 78 

The Violet 78 



CONTENTS IX 

The Young Poet 80 

A Song of Early Autumn 81 

The Building of the Chimney 82 

"a word said in the dark" 87 

A Riddle of Lovers 87 

The Dark Room. (A Parable) 88 

Before Sunrise 89 

"The woods that bring the sunset near" ... 89 

Sunset from the Train 90 

"After Sorrow's night" 91 

A November Child 92 

At Night 92 

Cradle Song 93 

"Nine years" 93 

"Back from the darkness to the light again" . . 94 

PART II 

Fate 94 

"We met upon the crowded way" 96 

The White and the Red Rose 96 

A Woman's Thought 98 

The River Inn 99 

The Homestead 100 

At Four Score loi 

John Carman 103 

Drinking Song 106 

The Voyager 106 

A Lament for the Dead of the Jeannette brought 

Home on the Frisia 107 

III Tidings. (The Studio Concert) no 

A New World no 

PART HI 

Congress: 1878 in 

The City 112 

Reform 112 

At Garfield's Grave. (September, 1881) . . . .113 

Memorial Day 114 

The North to the South 114 



X CONTENTS 

The Burial of Grant. (New York, August 8, 1885) .115 
The Dead Comrade. (At the burial of Grant, a bugler 

stood forth and sounded **taps") 116 

On the Life-Mask of Abraham Lincoln . . . .117 
The President. (Written during the first administration 

of President Cleveland) n8 

PART IV 

essipoff 118 

Adele aus der Ohe 119 

Modjeska 120 

The Drama. (Supposed to be from the Polish) . . . .120 
For AN Album. (To be read one hundred years after) . . 122 

Porto Fino 123 

Impromptus : — 

I — To F. F. C. ON THE pansy, her CLASS FLOWER 1 24 

II — Art 125 

III — To A Southern Girl 125 

IV — For a Fan 125 

V — To T. B. A. (In acknowledgment of a book of 

prose) 125 

VI — A Theme 126 

VII — The Christmas Tree in the Nursery. (For 

F. and R.) 126 

PART V 

Music and Words 128 

The Poet's Fame . 129 

The Poet's Protest 131 

To a Young Poet 132 

"When the true poet comes" 132 

Youth and Age 133 

■The Sonnet 134 

A Sonnet of Dante. "Tanto gentile e tanto onesta 

pare" 134 

The New Troubadours. (Avignon, 1879) . . . .135 

Keats 135 

An Inscription in Rome. (Piazza di Spagna) . . .136 

Desecration 136 

"Jocoseria" 137 



CONTENTS XI 

To AN English Friend, with Emerson's "Poems" . 138 

Our Elder Poets. (1878) 139 

Longfellow's "Book of Sonnets" 140 

"H. H." 140 

The Modern Rhymer 141 

TWO WORLDS AND OTHER POEMS 

PART I 
Two Worlds 

I — The Venus of Milo 145 

II — Michael Angelo's Slave 145 

PART II 

The Star in the City 145 

Moonlight 146 

"I CARE not if the SKIES ARE WHITE" I47 

Contrasts 148 

Serenade. (For Music) 148 

Largess 149 

Indoors, at Night 149 

The Absent Lover 150 

"To-night the music doth a burden bear" . . . 150 

Sanctum Sanctorum 150 

The Gift 151 

"Ah, Time, go not so soon" 153 

"The years are angels" 153 

"In her young eyes" 153 

"Yesterday, when we were friends" 153 

A Night Song. (For the Guitar) 154 

Leo 154 

PART III 

Brothers 155 

Love, Art, and Time. (On a picture entitled "The 

Portrait," by Will H. Low) 156 

The Dancers. (On a picture entitled "Summer," by T. 

W. Dewing) 156 

The Twenty-third of April 157 

Emma Lazarus 157 

The Twelfth of December. (Robert Browning) . .158 



XU CONTENTS 

PART IV 

Sheridan 158 

Sherman 160 

Pro Patria. (In memory of a faithful chaplain : the Rev. 

William Henry Gilder) 161 

To THE Spirit of Abraham Lincoln. (Reunion at Get- 
tysburg twenty-five years after the battle) 163 

Failure and Success. (G. C, 1888) 163 

J. R. L. : ON HIS Birthday 164 

Napoleon 164 

The White Czar's People 164 

Charleston: 1886 167 

PART V 

Hide not thy Heart 168 

"The poet from his own sorrow" 169 

"White, pillared neck" 170 

"Great nature is an army gay" 170 

"Life is the cost " 171 

The Prisoner's Thought 172 

The Condemned 173 

"Sow thou sorrow" 174 

Temptation 174 

A Midsummer Meditation . 174 

"As doth the bird" 175 

Visions : — 

I — "Cast into the pit" 175 

II — "Came to him once" 176 

III — "With full -toned beat" 176 

With a Cross of Immortelles 176 

The Passing of Christ 177 

Credo 180 

Non Sine Dolore 181 

PART VI 

Ode. (Read before the Alpha Chapter of the Phi Beta 

Kappa Society, Harvard University, June 26, 1890) . 185 
AFTER-SONG: To Rosamond 189 



CONTENTS XUl 

THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE 
PART I 

The Great Remembrance. (Read at the Annual Re- 
union of the Society of the Army of the Potomac, Faneuil 
Hall, Boston, June 27, 1893) 193 

PART II 

"The White City." (The Columbian Exposition) . . 201 

The Vanishing City 202 

The Tower of Flame, (The Columbian Exposition, July 

10, 1893) 204 

Lowell 205 

The Silence of Tennyson 206 

On the Death of a Great Man. (Phillips Brooks) 207 
A Hero of Peace. (In memory of Robert Ross: shot 

March 6, 1894) 207 

Washington at Trenton. (The Battle Monument, 

October 19, 1893) 208 

Fame 209 

A Monument by Saint-Gaudens 209 

A Memory of Rubinstein 210 

Paderewski . . 210 

Handel's Largo 211 

The Stairway 212 

The Actor 212 

The Stricken Player. (Edwin Booth) 212 

An Autumn Dirge (E. F. H.) 213 

Eleonora Duse 215 

Kelp Rock. (E. C. S.) 215 

At Niagara 215 

The Child-Garden . 216 

The Christ-Child. (A picture by Frank Vincent Du 

Mond) 217 

A Child 218 

Two Valleys 218 

On the Bay 219 

Washington Square 219 

The City 220 



XIV CONTENTS 

A Rhyme of Tyeingham. (In the Berkshire Mountains) 221 

Elsie 222 

Indirection 223 

"Ah, be not false" 223 

The Answer 224 

How Death may make a Man 224 

''Came to a master of song" 225 

Bards 226 

Meridian 227 

Evening in Tyringham Valley 228 

PART III 

A Week's Calendar: — 

I — New Year 228 

II — A New Soul 229 

III — "Keep pure thy soul" 229 

IV — "Thy mind is like a crystal brook". . . 229 
V — "One deed may mar a life" 230 

VI — The Unknown 230 

vii — Irrevocable 230 

PART IV 
Songs : — 

"Because the rose must fade" 231 

"Fades the rose" 232 

The Wintry Heart 232 

Hast thou heard the Nightingale? 233 

"In that dread, dreamed-of hour" 233 

"Rose-dark the solemn sunset" 234 

"Winds to the silent morn" 234 

The Unreturning 235 

Two Years 235 

IN PALESTINE AND OTHER POEMS 
PART I 

In Palestine 239 

The Anger of Christ 242 

The Birds of Bethlehem 243 



/ 



CONTENTS XV 

Noel 244 

"The SUPPER AT Emmaus." (A picture by Rembrandt) . 244 

The Doubter 245 

The Parthenon by Moonlight 245 

The Ottoman Empire 246 

Karnak 247 

*'Angelo, thou art the master" 249 

A Winter Twilight in Provence 250 

PART II 
"The poet's day" 253 

"How TO THE singer COMES THE SONG?" .... 253 

"Like the bright picture" 254 

Remembrance of Beauty 254 

Music in Solitude 255 

"A POWER there is" 256 

The Song's Answer 257 

The 'Cello 257 

The Valley Road 258 

Hawthorne in Berkshire 259 

Late Summer 260 

An Hour in a Studio. (F. L) 260 

Illusion 261 

A Song of the Road 261 

"Not here" 262 

"'No, no,' she said" 262 

A Soul Lost, and Found 263 

"This hour my heart went forth, as in old days" 264 

"Even when joy is near" 265 

Resurrection 266 

"As soars the eagle" 266 

PART III 

Robert Gould Shaw. (The monument by Augustus 

Saint-Gaudens) 267 

"The North Star draws the hero." (To H. N. G.) 268 

Glave 269 

Of Henry George. (Who died fighting against political 
tyranny and corruption, New York, 1897) .... 269 



XVI CONTENTS 

Scorn 269 

The Heroic Age. (Athens, 1896) 270 

The Sword of the Spirit. (In memory of Joe Evans) . 271 

"Through all the cunning ages" 272 

One Country — One Sacrifice. (Ensign Worth Bag- 
ley, May II, 1898) 273 

"When with their country's anger" 273 

A Vision 274 

The Word of the White Czar 275 

PART IV 

A Song for Dorothea, across the Sea 277 

A Blind Poet 278 

On a Woman seen upon the Stage. ("Tess," as played 

by Mrs. Fiske) 278 

Of One who neither Sees nor Hears. (Helen Keller) 278 
For the Espousals of Jeanne Roumanille, of Avignon 279 
To Marie Josephine Girard, Queen of the Felibres, 

ON HER WeDDING-DaY 280 

Inscription for a Tower in Florence. (Written for 

the Chatelaine) 280 

With a Volume of Dante 281 

POEMS AND INSCRIPTIONS 

Autumn at Four-Brooks Farm 285 

Indoors in Early Spring 285 

The Night Pasture 286 

A Letter from the Farm 288 

Summer Begins 291 

"Strolling toward Shottery" 291 ' 

Stratford Bells 292 

In Wordsworth's Orchard. (Dove Cottage). . . . 293 

Sir Walter Scott 293 

A Day in Tuscany 295 

A Sacred Comedy in Florence. (In which takes part 

a certain statue on the facade of the Duomo) . . . 296 
Michael Angelo's Aurora. (The Medici Chapel, 

Florence) 297 

The Old Master 297 



CONTENTS XVU 

At Luther's Grave. (Wittenberg) 298 

Beethoven. (Vienna) 298 

The Desert 299 

Egypt 299 

Syria 300 

The Dead Poet. (A. H.) 300 

War 301 

The Blameless Knight 302 

The Demagogue 303 

The Tool 303 

The New Politician 304 

A Lady to a Knight 305 

"Is Hope a phantom?" 305 

Song: "If lest thy heart betray thee " . . . . 305 

Memory 306 

"O glorious Sabbath sun" 307 

Motto for a Tree-Planting 307 

Janet 307 

On being asked for a Song concerning the Dedica- 
tion OF A Mountain in Samoa to the Memory of 

Stevenson. (A letter to I. O. S.) 308 

To Austin Dobson 309 

To L. R. S 309 

A Name 310 

John George Nicolay. (Washington, D. C., Septem- 
ber, 1901) 310 

The Comfort of the Trees. (McKinley: September, 

1901) 310 

The City of Light. (The Pan-American Exposition) 311 
Inscriptions for the Pan-American Exposition at 
Buffalo, 1901 

For the Propyl^ea 315 

For the Stadium 315 

For the Great Pylons of the Triumphal Cause- 
way 316 

Dedicatory Inscriptions 318 

"IN THE RIGHTS" 

"In THE eights." (John R. Procter) 323 

Home Acres 324 



XVlll CONTENTS 

A Call to the Mountains 325 

Spring Surprise 327 

-Autumn Trees 327 

"The light lies on the farther hills" . . . .327 

"Ah, near, dear friend" 328 

Music in Darkness. (Adele aus der Ohe) .... 328 

The Anger of Beethoven 330 

Mother and Child 330 

Alice Freeman Palmer 331 

"Mother OF HEROES." (Sarah Blake Shaw) . . .331 
The Great Citizen. (Abram Stevens Hewitt) . . .332 
On Reading of a Poet's Death. (Carlyle McKinley) 332 

John Henry Boner ^^^ 

"A wondrous song" ^^^ 

A New Poet 334 

The Singer of Joy 335 

Bread upon the Waters 335 

Lost 336 

"What man hath done" 336 

"He pondered well" 337 

"Thou thinkest thou hast lived" 338 

The Good Man 338 

"So fierce the buffets" 339 

Two Heroes 339 

The World's End 340 

Shelley's "Ozymandias" 340 

La Salle. ^ (Explorer of the Mississippi) 341 

Inauguration Day 341 

The Washington Monument. (At Washington, D. C.) 342 

Builders of the State 342 

Impromptus : — 
To William Watson. (On his Coronation Ode) . . 344 
"Life is the hammer." (Sidney Lanier) .... 344 
"The critic scanned the poet's book" .... 344 

"Her delicate form" 345 

Francesca Mia 345 

Age, and the Scorner 345 

To Jacob A. Riis. (On his Silver Wedding) . . .346 

Music and Friendship 346 

Friendship. (To ) 346 

To E. C. S. (On his Seventieth Birthday) .... 347 



CONTENTS XIX 

"Tell me good-by" 347 

Farewell to Charleston 348 

''The Pines" 348 

*'not wreaths alone " 349 

For the City Club 349 

To Charles H. Russell. (Whose father was one of 

Lincoln's helpers) 349 

"Give thy day to duty" 350 

Two Optimists. (A letter to Joseph Jefferson, ack- 
nowledging a copy of Helen Keller's Essay on 

"Optimism") 350 

The Passing of Joseph Jefferson 351 

"Shall we not pilaise the living?" 353 

Hymn. (Written for the service in memory of Dr J. L. M. 
Curry, held by the Southern Education Conference, 

Richmond, Virginia, April 26, 1903) 356 

John Wesley. (Written for the celebration of the two- 
hundredth anniversary of the birth of John Wesley, at 
Wesleyan University, Middletown, Connecticut, June, 

1903) = 357 

A Temple of Art. (Written for the opening of the Al- 
bright Art Caller}', Buffalo, May 31, 1905) 361 

THE FIRE DIVINE 

The Fire Divine 367 

The Invisible. (At a lecture) 368 

Destiny. (After reading a work on Astronomy) . . . 369 

The Old Faith 369 

The Doubter's Soliloquy 370 

Law 372 

Identity 373 

"Spare me my dreams" 374 

Hymn. (Thanksgiving for Saints and Prophets) .... 374 

The Valley of Life 375 

To One Impatient of Form in Art 377 

To the Poet 378 

Compensation 379 

The Poet's Secret 380 

"The day began as other days begin" .... 380 



XX CONTENTS 

A Poet's Question 381 

Prelude for "A Book of Music" 382 

Music at Twilight 384 

Music in Moonlight 386 

The Unknown Singer 387 

The Voice 387 

Wagner 388 

"The Pathetic Symphony." (Tschaikowsky) . . . 388 

MacDowell 388 

A Fantasy of Chopin. (Gabrilowitsch) 389 

"How strange the musician's memory" 390 

"In A NIGHT OF midsummer" 39O 

In THE White Mountains 391 

John Paul Jones 391 

To Emma Lazarus. (1905) 392 

Carl Schurz 392 

George MacDonald 393 

Josephine Shaw Lowell 394 

"One rose of song." (Mary Putnam Jacobi) . . . 396 

John Malone. (1906) 397 

"Lost Leaders," (City Club Memorial in honor of 

Wheeler H. Peckham, James C. Carter, William H. 

Baldwin, Jr., and Norton Goddard) 397 

On a Certain Agnostic. (G. E.) 398 

"A WEARY waste WITHOUT HER." (L. B. P.) . . . 398 

The Poet's Sleep. (T. B. A.) 399 

Where Spring began 399 

Avarice 400 

Pity the Blind 400 

Proof of Service. (To R. F. C.) 400 

Conquered 401 

Blame. (A memory of Eisleben, the place of Luther's 

birth and death) 401 

The Whisperers. (New York, 1905) 402 

Before the Grand Jury 403 

"In the Cities" 404 

A Tragedy of To-day. (New York, 1905) .... 406 

The Old House 409 

"There 's no place like the old place." (Old Home 

Week, Tyringham, 1905) . 412 

Glen Gilder 417 



CONTENTS XXI 

Song: "Maria Mia" 418 

Obscuration 419 

"I dreamed" 419 

Impromptus : — 
"From love to love." (For a wedding) 420 

"I ASKED <YOU TO READ MY POEM" 42O 

Nazimova 420 

A Warrior of Troy 420 

The Obelisk (1881) 421 

Crowned Absurdities 421 

To "Little Lady Margaret " — with a Book of 

Poems 421 

Sacrilege 421 

To THE Hero of a Scientific Romance . . . .421 
The Watchman on the Tower. (January, 1907) . .422 
Under the Stars : A Requiem for Augustus Saint- 
Gaudens 424 

IN HELENA'S GARDEN 

PART I 

In Helena's Garden 

The Sunset Window 431 

"The gray walls of the garden" 431 

The Marble Pool 432 

The Table Round 433 

The Sun-Dial 434 

"Something missing from the garden" .... 434 

Three Flowers of the Garden 435 

Early Autumn 436 

The Last Flower of the Garden 436 

PART II 

The Lion of Tyringham 437 

The Voice of the Hight 437 

A Song of Friendship 439 

A Rose of Dream 440 

Song: "O whither has she fled from out the dawn- 
ing AND the day?" 440 



XXll CONTENTS 

"When the girls come to the old house" . . . 441 

The Song of a Song 443 

The Net 444 

Song: "O purer far than ever I!" 445 

Song: "I awoke in the morning not knowing" , . 445 

"When the war fleet puts to sea" 446 

Art. (Miss Geraldine Farrar in "Madama Butterfly") .447 

In Praise of Portraiture 448 

In Times of Peace 450 

Impromptus : — 

Edward Everett Hale 451 

Bards of Britain (1908) 451 

Calve 451 

In a Concert Room 452 

The Lonesome Wild 452 

New Friends and Old 452 

Shadow and Sun 452 

A Naval Surgeon of the War for the Union . 452 

A Mother's Picture 453 

On a Young Hero 453 

A Hero's Bride 453 

To One who praised "the Gay Life" .... 453 

Lyric Lives 453 

Song : "A little longer still in summer suns" . . 453 

The Singing River 454 

The Solace of the Skies 454 

The Winding Path 455 

"What makes the garden grow" 456 

"If, one great day" 457 

Music beneath the Stars 458 

The Birds of Westland 458 

The Veil of Stars 459 

INDEX OF FIRST LINES 461 

INDEX OF TITLES 473 

Frontispiece : Photograph by Gessford. 
Decorations by H. de K. G. 



THE NEW DAY 

A POEM IN SONGS AND SONNETS 



THE NEW DAY 



PRELUDE 

The night was dark, tho' sometimes a faint star 
A little while a little space made bright. 
Dark was the night and like an iron bar 
Lay heavy on the land — till o'er the sea 
Slowly, within the East, there grew a light 
Which half was starlight, and half seemed to be 
The herald of a greater. The pale white 
Turned slowly to pale rose, and up the hight 
Of heaven slowly climbed. The gray sea grew 
Rose-colored like the sky. A white gull flew 
Straight toward the utmost boundary of the East 
Where slowly the rose gathered and increased. 
There was light now, where all was black before: 
It was as on the opening of a door 
By one who in his hand a lamp doth hold 
(Its flame being hidden by the garment's fold), — 
The still air moves, the wide room is less dim. 

More bright the East became, the ocean turned 
Dark and more dark against the brightening sky — 
Sharper against the sky the long sea line. 
The hollows of the breakers on the shore 
Were green like leaves whereon no sun doth shine, 
Tho' sunlight make the outer branches hoar. 
From rose to red the level heaven burned; 
Then sudden, as if a sword fell from on high, 
A blade of gold flashed on the ocean's rim. 



THE NEW DAY 



PART I 



I— SONNET 

(after the ITALIAN) 

I KNOW not if I love her overmuch; 

But this I know, that when unto her face 

She lifts her hand, which rests there, still, a space, 

Then slowly falls — ^ 't is I who feel that touch. 

And when she sudden shakes her head, with such 
A look, I soon her secret meaning trace. 
So when she runs I think 't is I who race. 
Like a poor cripple who has lost his crutch 

I am if she is gone; and when she goes, 
I know not why, for that is a strange art — 
As if myself should from myself depart. 

I know not if I love her more than those 

Who long her light have known; but for the rose 
She covers in her hair, I 'd give my heart. 

II— SONNET 

(after the ITALIAN) 

I LIKE her gentle hand that sometimes strays. 

To find the place, through the same book with 

mine; 
I like her feet; and O, those eyes divine! 
And when we say farewell, perhaps she stays 

Love-lingering — then hurries on her ways. 

As if she thought, " To end my pain and thine." 
I Hke her voice better than new-made wine; 
I like the mandolin whereon she plays. 



HESITATION 5 

And I like, too, the cloak I saw her wear, 

And the red scarf that her white neck doth cover, 
And well I like the door that she comes through; 

I like the riband that doth bind her hair — 
But then, in truth, I am that lady's lover. 
And every new day there is something new. 

Ill— "A BARREN STRETCH THAT SLANTS 
TO THE SALT SEA'S GRAY" 

A BARREN Stretch that slants to the salt sea's gray, — 
Rock-strewn, and scarred by fire, and rough with 
stubble, — 
With here and there a bold, bright touch of color — 
Berries and yellow leaves, that make the dolor 
More dolorous still. Above, a sky of trouble. 

But now a hght is lifted in the air; 
And tho' the sky is shadowed, fold on fold. 
By clouds that have the lightnings in their hold. 

That western gleam makes all the dim earth fair — 
And the gray sea gold. 

IV — HESITATION 

(a portrait) 

To-day I saw the picture of a man 

Who, issuing from a wood, doth thrust apart 
Strong-matted, thorny branches, whose keen smart 
He heeds in nowise, if he only can 

Win the red rose a maiden, like a fan. 
Holds daintily. She, listening to her heart, 
Hath looked another way. Ah, would she start, 
And weep, and suffer sorrow, if he ran — 



THE NEW DAY 

For utter love of her, forever back 

Into the shadows, which thrice darker were 
Because her whiteness made their black more black ! 

A little while he waits, lest he should err. 
Awhile he wonders, secretly. — Alack! 
He could so gladly die or live for her. 

V — LOVE GROWN BOLD 

This is her picture painted ere mine eyes 

Her ever holy face had looked upon. 

She sitteth in a silence of her own; 

Behind her, on the ground, a red rose lies; 
Her thinking brow is bent, nor doth arise 

Her gaze from that shut book whose word unknown 

Her firm hands hide from her; there all alone 

She sitteth in thought-trouble, maidenwise. 
And now her lover waiting wondereth 

Whether the joy of joys is drawing near; 

Shall his brave fingers like a tender breath 
That shut book open for her, wide and clear? 

From him who her sweet shadow worshipeth 

Now will she take the rose, and hold it dear? 

INTERLUDE 

The sun rose swift and sent a golden gleam 

Across the moving waters to the land; 

Then for a little while it seemed to stand 

In a clear place, midway 'twixt sea and cloud; 

Whence rising swift again it past behind 

Full many a long and narrow cloud-wrought beam 

Encased in gold unearthly, that was mined 

From out the hollow caverns of the wind. 



THE TRAVELER 

These first revealed its face and next did shroud, 
While still the daylight grew, and joy thereby 
Lit all the windy stretches of the sky — 

Until a shadow darkened from the east 
And sprang upon the ocean like a beast. 



PART II 



There was a field green and fragrant with grass and 
flowers, and flooded with sunhght, and the air above it 
throbbed with the songs of birds. It was yet morning 
when a great darkness spread over the earth, and out of 
the darkness lightning, and after the lightning fire that 
consumed every green thing; and the singing birds fell 
dying upon the blackened grass. The thunder and the 
flame past, but it was still dark — till a ray of light 
touched the field's edge and grew, little by little. Then 
one who listened heard — not the songs of birds again, 
but the flutter of broken wings. 

II — THE TRAVELER 

I MET a traveler on the road 
Whose back was bent beneath a load; 
His face was worn with mortal care, 
His frame beneath its burden shook. 
Yet onward, restless, he did fare 
With mien unyielding, fixt, a look 
Set forward in the empty air 
As he were reading an unseen book. 



THE NEW DAY 

What was it in his smile that stirred 
My soul to pity! When I drew 
More near it seemed as if I heard 
The broken echo of a tune 
Learned in some far and happy June. 
His lips were parted, but unmoved 
By words. He sang as dreamers do, 
And not as if he heard and loved 
The song he sang : I hear it now ! 

He stood beside the level brook, 
Nor quenched his thirst, nor bathed his brow, 
Nor from his back the burden shook. 
He stood, and yet he did not rest; 
His eyes climbed up in aimless quest, 
Then close did to that mirror bow — 
And, looking down, I saw in place 
Of his, my own familiar face. 

m — "COME TO ME YE WHO SUFFER" 

Come to me ye who suffer, for to all 
I am a brother now ! 'T was not in vain 
I saw the face of Sorrow; she who slain 
Yet lives; whose voice when she doth weep and call 

Is silent. When she weeps? Nay, nay! the pall 
Is on her tears too — they are dead. The rain 
Is molten-hot, dust-dry from her dull pain, 
Like ashes from the burning heavens that fall. 

I know the world-wide, lovely, living lie; 
I know the truth that better were unknown; 
I know the joyful laugh that is a cry 

Torn from a heart whence hope and faith have flown. 
And yet beats on, and will not, dare not die. 
I know the anguish without word or moan. 



AND WERE THAT BEST 9 

IV — WRITTEN ON A FLY-LEAF OF 
"SHAKESPEARE'S SONNETS" 

When shall true love be love without alloy — 
Shine free at last from sinful circumstance! 
When shall the canker of unheavenly chance 
Eat not the bud of that most heavenly joy ! 

When shall true lov« meet love not as a coy 
Retreating light that leads a deathful dance, 
But as a firm fixt fire that doth enhance 
The beauty of all beauty! Will the employ 

Of poets ever be too well to show 
That mightiest love with sharpest pain doth writhe; 
That underneath the fair, caressing glove 

Hides evermore the iron hand; and tho' 
Love's flower alone is good, if we would prove 
Its perfect bloom, our breath slays like a scythe! 

V— "AND WERE THAT BEST!" 

And were that best, Love, dreamless, endless sleep ! 

Gone all the fury of the mortal day — 

The daylight gone, and gone the starry ray! 

And were that best. Love, rest serene and deep! 
Gone labor and desire; no arduous steep 

To climb, no songs to sing, no prayers to pray. 

No help for those who perish by the way, 

No laughter 'mid our tears, no tears to weep! 
And were that best, Love, sleep with no dear dream. 

Nor memory of anything in life — 

Stark death that neither help nor hurt can know ! 
O, rather, far, the sorrow-bringing gleam. 

The living day's long agony and strife ! 

Rather strong love in pain ; the waking woe ! 



lO THE NEW DAY 

VI — "THERE IS NOTHING NEW UNDER 

THE SUN" 

There is nothing new under the sun ; 

There is no new hope or despair; 
The agony just begun 

Is as old as the earth and the air. 
My secret soul of bliss 

Is one with the singing stars, 
And the ancient mountains miss 

No hurt that my being mars. 

I know as I know my life, 

I know as I know my pain, 
That there is no lonely strife, 

That he is mad who would gain 
A separate balm for his woe, 

A single pity and cover; 
The one great God I know 

Hears the same prayer over and over. 

I know it because at the portal 

Of Heaven I bowed and cried, 
And I said : " Was ever a mortal 

Thus crowned and crucified! 
My praise Thou hast made my blame; 

My best Thou hast made my worst; 
My good Thou hast turned to shame; 

My drink is a flaming thirst." 

But scarce my prayer was said 
Ere from that place I turned; 

I trembled, I hung my head, 

My cheek, shame-smitten, burned; 



INTERLUDE 1 1 

For there where I bowed down 

In my boastful agony, 
I thought of thy cross and crown — 

O Christ! I remembered thee. 

VII — LOVE'S CRUELTY 

"And this, then, is thy love," I hear thee say, 

"And dost thou love, and canst thou torture so? 

Ah, spare me, if thou lov'st me, this last woe!" 

But I am not my own; I must obey 
My master; I am slave to Love; his sway 

Is cruel as the grave. When he says Go! 

I go; when he says Come! I come. I know 

No law but his. When he says Slay^ I slay. 
As cruel as the grave? Yes — crueler: 

Cruel as light that pours its stinging flood 

Across the dark, and makes an anguished stir 
Of life; cruel as life that sends through blood 

Of mortal the immortal pang and spur; 

Cruel as thy remorseless maidenhood. 

INTERLUDE 

The cloud was thick that hid the sun from sight 

And over all a shadowy roof outspread. 

Making the day dim with another night — 

Not dark like that which past, but O, more dread 

For the clear sunlight that had gone before 

And prophecy of that which yet should be. 

Like snow at night the wind-blown hills of sand 

Shone with an inward gleam far down the land: 

Beneath the lowering sky black was the sea 

Across whose waves a bird came flying low, — 

Borne swift on the wind with wing-beat halt and slow, — • 



12 THE NEW DAY 

From out the dull east toward the foamy shore. 
There was an awful waiting in the earth 
As if a mystery greatened to its birth. 
Tho' late it seemed, the day was just begun 
When lo! at last, the many-colored bow 
Stood in the heavens over against the sun. 



PART III 

I— "THE PALLID WATCHER OF THE 
EASTERN SKIES" 

The pallid watcher of the eastern skies 
Who, through the suffering night, did wait forlorn, 
When comes the first faint purple of the morn 
Waiteth no longer. To his happy eyes 

The promised near the promise following flies. 
Nor is his soul with sullen anguish torn, 
Nor curseth he the day when he was born. 
From the damp ground he doth in wonder rise, 

Firm set his face against the gathering glory — 
So to be sure that this, at last, is this. 
And not the ancient, bitter-lying story. 

And now he prays for strength to bear the bliss, 
While, bending o'er the mountain, red and hoary. 
The morning crowns him with a golden kiss. 

II — "MY LOVE FOR THEE DOTH MARCH 
LIKE ARMED MEN" 

My love for thee doth march like armed men, 
Against a queenly city they would take. 
Along the army's front its banners shake ; 
Across the mountain and the sun-smit plain 



WHAT WOULD I WIN THEE TO? 1 3 

It stedfast sweeps as sweeps the stedfast rain; 

And now the trumpet makes the still air quake, 

And now the thundering cannon doth awake 

Echo on echo, echoing loud again. 
But, lo! the conquest higher than bard e'er sung: 

Instead of answering cannon, proud surrender! 

Joyful the iron gates are open flung 
And, for the conqueror, welcome gay and tender ! 

O, bright the invader's path with tribute flowers, 

While comrade flags flame forth on wall and towers ! 

Ill— "WHAT WOULD I SAVE THEE FROM?'* 

What would I save thee from, dear heart, dear heart ? 

Not from what Heaven may send thee of its pain ; 

Not from fierce sunshine or the scathing rain : 

The pang of pleasure; passion's wound and smart; 
Not from the long, glad anguish of thine art; 

Nor loss of faithful friends, nor any gain 

Of growth by grief; I would not thee restrain 

From needful death. But O, thou other part 
Of me ! — through whom the whole world I behold, 

As through the blue I see the stars above! 

In whom the world I find, hid fold on fold! 
Thee would I save from this — nay, do not move; 

Fear not, it may not flash, the air is cold; 

Save thee from this — the lightning of my love. 

IV— "WHAT WOULD I WIN THEE TO?" 

What would I win thee to? dear heart and true! 
A thought of bliss, a thornless life ? Ah no ! 
Through weeping pain. Love, I would let thee go; 
Through weary days and widowed nights; yea, through 



A 



14 THE NEW DAY 

The Valley of the Shadow, without rue, 
If thou couldst gain the goal, Love, even so. 
I would not win thee to a fruitful woe; 
To best of earth or best beyond the blue. 

And most of all would thy true lover scorn 
To win thee to himself; thou shalt be free 
To have or hate! But O, my golden morn! 

Behold thy lover's passionate bravery — 
Mighty, unresting, stedfast, heaven-born — 
To win thee to the light, which is — to thee ! 

V— "I WILL BE BRAVE FOR THEE'' 

I WILL be brave for thee, dear heart; for thee 

My boasted bravery forego. I will 

For thee be wise, or lose my little skill; 

Coward or brave; wise, foolish; bond or free. 
No grievous cost in anything I see 

That brings thee bliss, or only keeps thee, still. 

In painless peace. So Heaven thy cup but fill, 

Be empty mine unto eternity! 
Come to me, Love, and let me touch thy face! 

Lean to me. Love ; breathe on me thy dear breath ! 

Fly from me. Love, to some far hiding-place. 
If thy one thought of me or hindereth 

Or hurteth thy sweet soul — then grant me grace 

To be forgotten, tho' that grace be death! 

VI— "LOVE ME NOT, LOVE, FOR THAT I 
FIRST LOVED THEE" 

Love me not, Love, for that I first loved thee; 
Nor love me, Love, for thy sweet pity's sake, 
In knowledge of the mortal pain and ache 
Which is the fruit of love's blood-veined tree. 



BODY AND SOUL 1 5 

Let others for my love give love to me; 
From other souls, O, gladly will I take, 
This burning, heart-dry thirst of love to slake, 
What seas of human pity there may be! 

Nay, nay, I care no more how love may grow, 
So that I hear thee answer to my call; 
Love me because my piteous tears do flow, 

Or that my love for thee did first befall. 
Love me or late or early, fast or slow — 
But love me. Love, for love is all in all ! 

VII — BODY AND SOUL 



O, THOU my Love, love first my lonely soul! 
Then shall this too unworthy body of mine 
Be loved by right and accident divine. 
Forget the flesh, that the pure spirit's goal 

May be the spirit; let that stand the whole 
Of what thou lov'st in me. So will the shine 
Of soul that strikes on soul make fair and fine 
This earthy tenement ; thou shalt extol 

The inner, that the outer lovelier seem. 

Thy lover, who thy love implores, doth fear 
No deadlier foe than the impassioned dream 

Should drive thee to him, and should hold thee near — 
Near to the body, not the soul of him: 
Love first my soul and then both will be dear. 

II 

But, Love, for me thy body was the first. 
One day I wandered idly through the town, 
Then entered a cathedral's silence brown 
Which sudden thrilled with a strange heavenly burst 



l6 THE NEW DAY 

Of light and music. Lo ! that traveler durst 
Do nothing now but worship and fall down. 
He thought to rest, as doth some tired clown 
Who sinks in longed-for sleep, but there immersed 

Finds restless vision on vision of beauty rare. 
Moved by thy body's outer majesty 
I entered in thy silent, sacred shrine; 

'T was then, all suddenly and unaware, 
Thou didst reveal, O, maiden Love! to me, 
This beautiful, singing, holy soul of thine. 

VIII— "THY LOVER, LOVE, WOULD HAVE 
SOME NOBLER WAY" 

Thy lover. Love, would have some nobler way 
To tell his love, his noble love to tell, 
Than rhymes set ringing like a silver bell. 
O, he would lead an army, great and gay, 

From conquering to conquer, day by day ! 
And when the walls of a proud citadel 
At summons of his guns far-echoing fell — 
That thunder to his Love should murmuring say: 

Thee only do I love, dear Love of mine! 
And while men cried: Behold how brave a fight! 
She should read well, O, well! each new emprize: 

This to her lips, this to my lady's eyes! 
And tho' the world were conquered, line on line, 
4 Still would his love be speechless, day and night. 

IX — LOVE'S JEALOUSY 

Of other men I know no jealousy, 
Nor of the maid who holds thee close, O, close! 
But of the June-red, summer-scented rose, 
And of the barred and golden sunset sky 



ONCE ONLY 17 

That wins the soul of thee through thy deep eye; 
And of the breeze by thee beloved, that goes 
O'er thy dear hair and brow; the song that flows 
Into thy heart of hearts, where it may die. 

I would I were one moment that sweet show 
Of flower; or breeze beloved that toucheth all; 
Or sky that through the summer eve doth burn. 

I would I were the song thou lovest so, 

At sound of me to have thine eyelids fall ; — 
But I would then to something human turn. 

X — LOVE'S MONOTONE 

Thou art so used, Love, to thine own bird's song, — 
Sung to thine ear in love's low monotone, 
Sung to thee only. Love, to thee alone 
Of all the listening world, — that I among 

My doubts find this the leader of the throng: 
Haply the music hath accustomed grown 
And no more music is to thee; my own 
Too faithful argument works its own wrong. 

Love, Love, and must I learn for thy sweet sake 
The art of silence ? — Ah, then hide the light 
Of thy dear countenance, lest the music wake! 

Yet should thy bird at last fall silent quite. 
Would not thy heart an unused sorrow take? 
Think not of me but of thyself to-night. 

XI— "ONCE ONLY" 

Once only. Love, may love's sweet song be sung; 
But once. Love, at our feet love's flower is flung; 
Once, Love, once only. Love, can we be young; 
Say shall we love, dear Love, or shall we hate! 



1 8 THE NEW DAY 

Once only, Love, will burn the blood-red fire; 
But once awakeneth the wild desire; 
Love pleadeth long, but what if love should tire! 
Now shall we love, dear Love, or shall we wait! 

The day is short, the evening cometh fast; 
The time of choosing. Love, will soon be past; 
The outer darkness falleth, Love, at last; 

Love, let us love ere it be late — too late ! 

XII — DENIAL 

When some new thought of love in me is born, 
Then swift I seek a token fair and meet 
That may unblamed thy blessed vision greet; 
Whether it be a rose, not bloodless torn 

From that June tree which hideth many a thorn, 
Or but a simple, loving message, sweet 
With summer's heart and mine, — these at thy feet 
I straightway fling; but all with maiden scorn 

Thou spurnest. What to thee is token or sign. 
Who dost deny the thing wherefor it stands! 
Then I seem foolish in my sight and thine, 

Like one who eager proffers empty hands. 
Thou only callest these my gifts unfine, 
While men are praising them in distant lands. 

XIII— "ONCE WHEN WE WALKED WITHIN 
A SUMMER FIELD" 

Once when we walked within a summer field 
I pluckt the flower of immortality, 
And said, "Dear Love of mine, I give to thee 
This flower of flowers of all the round year's yield!" 



LISTENING TO MUSIC 1 9 

'Twas then thou stood'st, and with one hand didst 
shield 

Thy sun-dazed eyes, and, flinging the other free, 

Spurned from thee that white blossom utterly. 

But, Love, the immortal cannot so be killed. 
The generations shall behold thee stand 

Against that western glow in grass dew-wet — 

Lord of my life, and lady of the land. 
Nor maid nor lover shall the world forget. 

Nor that disdainful wafture of thy hand. 

Thou scornful ! sun and flower shall find thee yet. 

XIV— SONG 

I LOVE her gentle forehead, 

And I love her tender hair; 
I love her cool, white arms. 

And her neck where it is bare. 

I love the smell of her garments; 

I love the touch of her hands; 
I love the sky above her, 

And the very ground where she stands. 

I love her doubting and anguish; 

I love the love she withholds; 
I love my love that loveth her 

And anew her being molds. 

XV — LISTENING TO MUSIC 

When on that joyful sea 

Where billow on billow breaks; where swift waves follow 

Waves, and hollow calls to hollow; 

Where sea-birds swirl and swing. 



20 THE NEW DAY 

And winds through the rigging shrill and sing; 

Where night is one vast starless shade; 

Where thy soul not afraid, 

Tho' all alone unlonely, 

Wanders and wavers, wavers wandering; 

On that accursed sea 

One moment only. 

Forget one moment. Love, thy fierce content; 

Back let thy soul be bent — 

Think back, dear Love, O Love, think back to me! 

XVI— "A SONG OF THE MAIDEN MORN" 

A SONG of the maiden morn, 
A song for my little maid. 
Of the silver sunlight born! 

But I am afraid, afraid, 
When I come my maid may be 
Nothing, there, but a shade. 

But O, her shadow is more to me 
Than the shadowless light of eternity! 

XVII — WORDS IN ABSENCE 

I WOULD that my words were as my fingers, 

So that my Love might feel them move 
Slowly over her brow, as lingers 

The sunset wind o'er the world of its love. 
I would that my words were as the beating 
Of her own heart, that keeps repeating 

My name through the livelong day and the night; 
And when my Love her lover misses, — 

Longs for and loves in the dark and the light, — 



THISTLE-DOWN 21 

I would that my words were as my kisses. 
I would that my words her life might fill — 

Be to her earth, and air, and skies. 
I would that my words were husht and still — 

Lost in the light of her eyes. 

XVIII — SONG 

The birds were singing, the skies were gay; 

I looked from the window on meadow and wood, 
On green, green grass that the sun made white; 
Beyond the river the mountain stood — 

Blue was the mountain, the river was bright; 
I looked on the land and it was not good, 
For my own dear Love she had flown away. 

XIX — THISTLE-DOWN 

Fly, thistle-down, fly 

From my lips to the lips that I love! 

Fly through the morning light. 

Flee through the shadowy night, 

Over the sea and the land, 

Quick as the lark 

Through twilight and dark, 

Through lightning and thunder; 

Till no longer asunder 

We stand; 

For thy touch like the lips of her lover 

Moves her being to mine — 

We are one in a swoon divine! 

Fly, thistle-down, fly 

From my lips to the lips that I love ! 



22 THE NEW DAY 

XX— "O SWEET WILD ROSES THAT BUD 
AND BLOW" 

O SWEET wild roses that bud and blow 
Along the way that my Love may go; 
O moss-green rocks that touch her dress, 
And grass that her dear feet may press; 

O maple-tree whose brooding shade 
For her a summer tent has made; 
O goldenrod and brave sunflower 
That flame before my maiden's bower; 

O butterfly on whose light wings 
The golden summer sunshine clings; 
O birds that flit o'er wheat and wall, 
And from cool hollows pipe and call; 

O falling water whose distant roar 
Sounds like the waves upon the shore; 
O winds that down the valley sweep, 
And lightnings from the clouds that leap; 

O skies that bend above the hills; 

O gentle rains and babbhng rills; 

O moon and sun that beam and burn — 

Keep safe my Love till I return! 

XXI — THE RIVER 

I KNOW thou art not that brown mountain-side, 
Nor the pale mist that lies along the hills 
And with white joy the deepening valley fills; 
Nor yet the solemn river moving wide . 



SONG 23 

Into that valley, where the hills abide 

But whence those morning clouds on noiseless 
wheels 

Shall lingering lift and, as the moonlight steals 

From out the heavens, so into the heavens shall 
glide. 
I know thou art not this gray rock that looms 

Above the water, fringed with scarlet vine ; 

Nor flame of burning meadow ; nor the sedge 
That sways and trembles at the river's edge. 

But through all these, dear heart ! to me there comes 

Some melancholy, absent look of thine. 

XXII — THE LOVER'S LORD AND MASTER 

I PRAY thee, dear, think not alone of me, 

But sometimes think of my great master, Love; 
His faithful slave he is so far above 
That for his sake I would forgotten be — 

Tho' well I know that hidden thus from thee 
Not far away my image then might rove. 
And his sweet, heavenly countenance would move , 
Ever thy soul to gentler charity. 

So when thy lover's self leaps from his song 
Thou him may love not less for his fair Lord. 
But that thy love for me grow never small 

(As bow long bent twangs not the arrowed cord, 
And he doth lose his star who looks too long), 
Sometimes, dear heart, think not of me at all. 

XXIII — SONG 

My love grew with the growing night, 
And dawned with the new daylight. 



24 THE NEW DAY 

XXIV— "A NIGHT OF STARS AND DREAMS'* 

A NIGHT of stars and dreams, of dreams and sleep; 

A waking into another empty day — 

But not unlovely all, for then I say: 

" To-morrow !" Through the hours this light doth creep 
Higher in the heavens, as down the heavenly steep 

Sinks the slow sun. Another evening gray, 

Made glorious by the morn that comes that way; 

Another night, and then To-day doth leap 
Upon the world! O, quick the hours do fly, 

Of that new day which brings the moment when 

We meet at last! Swift up the shaking sky 
Rushes the sun from out its dismal den; 

And then the wisht for time doth yearn more nigh ; 

A white robe glimmering in the dark — and then ! 



XXV— A BIRTHDAY SONG 

I THOUGHT this day to bring to thee 
A flower that grows on the red rose tree. 
I searched the branches — O, despair! 
Of roses every branch was bare. 

I thought to sing thee a birthday song 
As wild as my love, as deep and strong. 
The song took wing like a frightened bird, 
And its music my maiden never heard. 

But, Love, the flower and the song divine 
One day of the year will yet be thine; 
And thou shalt be glad when the rose I bring, 
And weep for joy at the song I sing. 



THE SMILE OF HER I LOVE 25 

XXVI — "WHAT CAN LOVE DO FOR THEE, 
LOVE?'' 

What can love do for thee, Love? 

Can it make the green fields greener; 

Bluer the skies, and bluer 

The eyes of the blue-eyed flowers? 

Can it make the May-day showers 

More warm and sweet; serener 

The heavens after the rain? 

The sunset's radiant splendor 

More exquisite and tender? 

The Northern Star more sure? 

Can it take the pang from pain ? 

(O Love, remember the curtain 

Of cloud that lifted last night 

And showed the silver light 

Of a star!) Can it make more certain 

The heart of the heart of all, 

The good that works at the root — 

The singing soul of love 

That throbs in flower and fruit, 

In man and earth and brute, 

In hell, and heaven above? 

Can its low voice musical 

Make dear the day and the night? 

XXVII — "THE SMILE OF HER I LOVE" 

The smile of her I love is like the dawn 
Whose touch makes Memnon sing. 
O, see where wide the golden sunlight flows — 
The barren desert blossoms as the rose ! 



26 THE NEW DAY 

The smile of her I love — when that is gone, 

O'er all the world Night spreads her shadowy wing. 



XXVIII — FRANCESCA AND PAOLO 

Within the second dolorous circle where 

The lost are whirled, lamenting — thou and I 
Stood, Love, to-day with Dante. Silently 
We looked upon the black and trembling air; 

When lo ! from out that darkness of despair 
Two shadows, light upon the wind, drew nigh, 
Whose very motion seemed to breathe a sigh — 
And there Francesca, and her lover there. 

These when we saw, the wounds whereat they bled. 
Their love which was not with their bodies slain — - 
These when we saw, great were the tears we shed; 

As, Love, for thee and me love's tears shall rain — 
The mortal agony; the nameless dread; 
The longing, and the passion, and the pain. 



XXIX — THE UNKNOWN WAY 

Two travelers met upon a plain 

Where two straight, narrow pathways crossed; 

They met and, with a still surprise, 

They looked into each other's eyes 

And knew that never, O, never again! 

Could one from the other soul be lost. 

But lo! these narrow pathways lead 
Now each from each apart, and lo! 
In neither pathway can they go 
Together, in their new, strange need. 



THE SOWER 27 

Far-o£f the purple mountains loom, — 
Vague and far-off, and fixt as fate, — 
Which hide from sight that land unknown 
Where, ever, like a carven stone 
The setting sun doth stand and wait, 
And men cry not : " Too late ! too late ! " 
And sorrow turns to a golden gloom. 
But O, the long journey all unled 
By track of traveler o'er the plain — 
The stony desert, bleak and rude, 
The bruised feet and the tired brain ; 
And O, the twofold solitude. 
The doubt, the danger, and the dread! 

XXX — THE SOWER 



A Sower went forth to sow; 

His eyes were dark with woe; 

He crusht the flowers beneath his feet, 

Nor smelt the perfume, warm and sweet, 

That prayed for pity everywhere. 

He came to a field that was harried 

By iron, and to heaven laid bare; 

He shook the seed that he carried 

O'er that brown and bladeless place. 

He shook it, as God shakes hail 

Over a doomed land, 

When lightnings interlace 

The sky and the earth, and His wand 

Of love is a thunder-flail. 

Thus did that Sower sow; 

His seed was human blood, 

And tears of women and men. 



28 THE NEW DAY 

And I, who near him stood, 
Said: When the crop comes, then 
There will be sobbing and sighing, 
Weeping and wailing and crying. 
Flame, and ashes, and woe. 

II 

It was an autumn day 

When next I went that way. 

And what, think you, did I see, 

What was it that I heard, 

What music was in the air? 

The song of a sweet-voiced bird? 

Nay — but the songs of many, 

Thrilled through with praise and prayer. 

Of all those voices not any 

Were sad of memory; 

But a sea of sunlight flowed, 

A golden harvest glowed. 

And I said: Thou only art wise, 

God of the earth and skies! 

And I praise Thee, again and again, 

For the Sower whose name is Pain. 



XXXI— "WHEN THE LAST DOUBT IS 
DOUBTED" 

When the last doubt is doubted, 
The last black shadow flown; 
When the last foe is routed; 

When the night is over and gone — 
Then, Love, O then! there will be rest and peace: 
Sweet peace and rest that never thou hast known. 



INTERLUDE 29 

When the hope that in thee moveth 

Is born and brought to sight; 

When past is the pain that proveth 

The worth of thy new dehght — 

O then, Love! then there will be joy and peace: 

Deep peace and joy, bright morning after night. 



INTERLUDE 

As melting snow leaves bare the mountain-side 

In spaces that grow wider and more wide, 

So melted from the sky the cloudy veil 

That hid the face of sunrise. Land and ledge 

And waste of glittering waters sent a glare 

Back to the smiting sun. The trembling air 

Lay, sea on sea, along the horizbn's edge; 

And on that upper ocean, clear as glass. 

The tall ships followed with deep-mirrored sail 

Like clouds wind-moved that follow and that pass; 

And on that upper ocean, far and fair, 

Floated low islands all unseen before. 

Green grew the ocean shaken through with light, 

And blue the heavens faint-fleckt with plumy white. 

Like pennants on the wind, from o'er the rocks 

The birds whirled seaward in shrill-piping flocks — 

And through the dawn, as through the shadowy night, 

The sound of waves that break upon the shore! 



30 THE NEW DAY 



PART IV 

I — SONG 

Love, Love, my love, 

The best things are the truest! 
When the earth lies shadowy dark below, 

O then the heavens are bluest ! 
Deep the blue of the sky, 

And sharp the gleam of the stars, 
And O, more bright against the night 

The Aurora's crimson bars! 

II — THE MIRROR 

That I should love thee seemeth meet and wise, 
So beautiful thou art that he were mad 
Who in thy countenance no pleasure had; 
Who felt not the still music of thine eyes 

Fall on his forehead, as the evening skies 
The music of the stars feel and are glad. 
But o'er my mind one doubt still cast a shade 
Till in my thought this answer did arise: 

That thou shouldst love me is not wise or meet, 
For like thee. Love, I am not beautiful; 
And yet I think that haply in my face 

Thou findest a true beauty; — this poor, dull. 
Disfigured mirror dimly may repeat 
A little part of thy most heavenly grace. 

m — LIKENESS IN UNLIKENESS 

We are alike, and yet, — O strange and sweet ! — 
Each in the other difference discerns; 



ALL IN ONE 31 

So the torn strands the maiden's finger turns 
Opposing ways, when they again do meet 

Clasp each in each, as flame clasps into heat ; 
So when this hand on this cool bosom burns. 
Each sense is lost in the other. So two urns 
Do, side by side, the selfsame lines repeat, 

But various color gives a lovelier grace, 

And each by contrast still more fine has grown. 
Thus, Love, it was, I did forget thy face 

As more and more to me thy soul was known; 
Vague in my mind it grew till, in its place, 
Another came I knew not from my own. 

IV— SONG 

Not from the whole wide world I chose thee — 
Sweetheart, light of the land and the sea! 

The wide, wide world could not inclose thee, 
For thou art the whole wide world to me. 



V — ALL IN ONE 

Once when a maiden maidenly went by. 
Or when I found some wonder in the grass. 
Or when a purple sunset slow did pass, 
Or a great star rushed silent through the sky; 

Once when I heard a singing ecstasy, 

Or saw the moon's face in the river's glass — 
Then I remembered that for me, alas! 
This beauty must for ever and ever die. 

But now I may thus sorrow never more; 

From fleeting beauty thou hast torn the pall; 
Of beauty. Love, thou art the soul and core; 



32 THE NEW DAY 

And tho' the empty shadow fading fall, — 

Tho' lesser birds lift up their wings and soar, — 
In having thee alone, Love, I have all. 

VI— "I COUNT MY TIME BY TIMES THAT 
I MEET THEE" 

I COUNT my time by times that I meet thee; 

These are my yesterdays, my morrows, noons, 

And nights; these my old moons and my new moons 

Slow fly the hours, or fast the hours do flee, 
If thou art far from or art near to me; 

If thou art far, the bird tunes are no tunes; 

If thou art near, the wintry days are Junes — 

Darkness is light, and sorrow cannot be. 
Thou art my dream come true, and thou my dream; 

The air I breathe, the world wherein I dwell; 

My journey's end thou art, and thou the way; 
Thou art what I would be, yet only seem; 

Thou art my heaven and thou art my hell ; 

Thou art my ever-living judgment-day. 

VII — SONG 

Years have flown since I knew thee first, 
And I know thee as water is known of thirst; 
Yet I knew thee of old at the first sweet sight, 
And thou art strange to me. Love, to-night. 

VIII — THE SEASONS 

O STRANGE Spring days, when from the shivering 

ground 
Love riseth, wakening from his dreamful swound 
And, frightened, in the stream his face hath found ! 



THE VIOLIN 33 

O Summer days, when Love hath grown apace, 

And feareth not to look upon Love's face, 

And lightnings burn where earth and sky embrace! 

O Autumn, when the winds are dank and dread. 
How brave above the dying and the dead 
The conqueror. Love, uplifts his banner red! 

O Winter, when the earth lies white and chill! 
Now only hath strong Love his perfect will, 
Whom heat, nor cold, nor death can bind nor kill. 

IX— "SUMMER'S RAIN AND WINTER'S 
SNOW" 

Summer's rain and winter's snow 
With the seasons come and go; 

Shine and shower; 
Tender bud and perfect flower; 
Silver blossom, golden fruit; 

Song and lute. 
With their inward sound of pain; 
Winter's snow and summer's rain; 

Frost and fire; 
Joy beyond the heart's desire — 
And our June comes round again. 

X — THE VIOLIN 

Before the listening world behold him stand ; 
The warm air trembles with his passionate play; 
Their cheers shower round him like the ocean spray 
Round one who waits upon the stormy strand. 

Their smiles, sighs, tears all are at his command; 



34 THE NEW DAY 

And now they hear the trump of judgment-day, 
And now one silver note to heaven doth stray 
And fluttering fall upon the golden sand. 

But like the murmur of the distant sea 

Their loud applause, and far off, faint, and weak 
Sounds his own music to him, wild and free — 

Far from the soul of music that doth speak 
In wordless wail and lyric ecstasy 
From that good viol prest against his cheek. 

XI— "O MIGHTY RIVER, TRIUMPHING TO 
THE SEA" 

MIGHTY river, triumphing to the sea. 
Strong, calm, and solemn as thy mountains be ! 
Poets have sung thy ever-living power. 

Thy wintry day, and summer sunset hour; 

Have told how rich thou art, how broad, how deep; 

What commerce thine, how many myriads reap 

The harvest of thy waters. They have sung 

Thy moony nights, when every shadow flung 

From cliff or pine is peopled with dim ghosts 

Of settlers, old-world fairies, or the hosts 

Of savage warriors that once plowed thy waves — 

Now hurrying to the dance from hidden graves; 

The waving outline of thy wooded mountains, 

Thy populous towns that stretch from forest fountains 

On either side, far to the salty main, 

Like golden coins alternate on a chain. 

Thou pathway of the empire of the North, 
Thy praises through the earth have traveled forth! 

1 hear thee praised as one who hears the shout 
That follows when a hero from the rout 

Of battle issues: "Lo, how brave is he. 



AFTER MANY DAYS 35 

How noble, proud, and beautiful!" But she 

Who knows him best: "How tender!" So thou art 

The river of love to me! 

— Heart of my heart, 
Dear love and bride — is it not so indeed ? — 
Among your treasures keep this new-pluckt reed. 

Xn— "MY SONGS ARE ALL OF THEE" 

My songs are all of thee, what tho' I sing 
Of morning when the stars are yet in sight, 
Of evening, or the melancholy night, 
Of birds that o'er the reddening waters wing; 

Of song, of fire, of winds, or mists that cling 
To mountain-tops, of winter all in white. 
Of rivers that toward ocean take their flight. 
Of summer*when the rose is blossoming. 

I think no thought that is not thine, no breath 
Of life I breathe beyond thy sanctity; 
Thou art the voice that silence uttereth. 

And of all sound thou art the sense. From thee 
The music of my song, and what it saith 
Is but the beat of thy heart, throbbed through me. 

Xm — AFTER MANY DAYS 

Dear heart, I would that after many days, 
When we are gone, true lovers in a book 
Might find these faithful songs of ours. " O look ! " 
I hear him murmur while he straightway lays 

His finger on the page, and she doth raise 
Her eyes to his. Then, like the winter brook 
From whose young limbs a sudden summer shook 
The fetters, love flows on in sunny ways. 



36 THE NEW DAY 

I would that when we are no more, dear heart, 
The world might hold thy unforgotten name 
Inviolate in these eternal rhymes. 

I would have poets say: "Let not the art 

Wherewith they loved be lost ! To us the blame 
Should love grow less in these our modern times." 



XIV— WEAL AND WOE 

O HIGHEST, strongest, sweetest woman-soul! 

Thou holdest in the compass of thy grace 

All the strange fate and passion of thy race; 

Of the old, primal curse thou knowest the whole. 
Thine eyes, too wise, are heavy with the dole. 

The doubt, the dread of all this human maze ; 

Thou in the virgin morning of thy days 

Hast felt the bitter waters o'er thee roll. 
Yet thou knowest, too, the terrible delight. 

The still content, and solemn ecstasy; 

Whatever sharp, sweet bliss thy kind may know. 
Thy spirit is deep for pleasure as for woe — 

Deep as the rich, dark-caverned, awful sea 

That the keen-winded, glimmering dawn makes 
white. 



XV— "O, LOVE IS NOT A SUMMER MOOD' 

O, LOVE is not a summer mood, 
Nor flying phantom of the brain, 

Nor youthful fever of the blood, 

Nor dream, nor fate, nor circumstance. 
Love is not born of blinded chance, 
Nor bred in simple ignorance. 



HE KNOWS NOT THE PATH OF DUTY 37 

Love is the flower of maidenhood; 
Love is the fruit of mortal pain; 

And she hath winter in her blood. 

True love is stedfast as the skies, 
And once alight she never flies; 
And love is strong, and love is wise. 

XVI— "LOVE IS NOT BOND TO ANY MAN" 

Love is not bond to any man, 
Nor slave of woman, howso fair. 

Love knows no architect nor plan. 
She is a lawless wanderer, 
She hath no master over her, 
And loveth not her worshiper. 

But tho' she knoweth law nor plan, — 
Tho' she is free as light and air, — 

Love was a slave since time began. 

Lo, now, behold a wondrous thing: 
Tho' from stone walls she taketh wing. 
Love may be led by a silken string. 

XVII— "HE KNOWS NOT THE PATH OF 
DUTY " 

He knows not the path of duty 
Who says that the way is sweet; 

But he who is blind to the beauty. 
And finds but thorns for his feet. 

He alone is the perfect giver 

Who swears that his gift is naught; 

And he is the sure receiver 

Who gains what he never sought. 



38 THE NEW DAY 

Heaven from the hopeless doubter 
The true believer makes; 

Against the darkness outer 
The light God's likeness takes. 

Like the pale, cold moon above her 
With its heart of the heart of fire, 

My Love is the one true lover, 
And hers is the soul of desire. 



AFTER-SONG 

Through love to light ! O, wonderful the way 

That leads from darkness to the perfect day! 

From darkness and from sorrow of the night 

To morning that comes singing o'er the sea. 

Through love to light ! Through light, O God, to Thee, 

Who art the love of love, the eternal light of light ! 



THE CELESTIAL PASSION 



THE CELESTIAL PASSION 

PRELUDE 

O WHITE and midnight sky! O starry bath! 

Wash me in thy pure, heavenly, crystal flood; 

Cleanse me, ye stars, from earthly soil and scath; 

Let not one taint remain in spirit or blood! 
Receive my soul, ye burning, awful deeps; 

Touch and baptize me with the mighty power 

That in ye thrills, while the dark planet sleeps; 

Make me all yours for one blest, secret hour! 
O glittering host! O high angelic choir! 

Silence each tone that with thy music jars; 

Fill me even as an urn with thy white fire 
Till all I am is kindred to the stars! 

Make me thy child, thou infinite, holy night — 

So shall my days be steeped in heavenly light ! 



PART I 

ART AND LIFE 

Said the Poet unto the Seer: 

How shall I learn to tell 

What I know of Heaven and Hell ? 

I speak, but to ashes turn 

The passions that in me burn. 

I shout to the skies, but I hear 

No answer from man or God. 



42 THE CELESTIAL PASSION 

Shall I cast my lyre to the sod, 
Rest, and give over the strife. 
And sink in a voiceless Hfe? 

Said the Seer to the Poet : Arise 
And give to the seas and the skies 
The message that in thee burns. 
Thrice speak, tho' the blue sky turns 
Deaf ears, and the ocean spurns 
Thy call. Tho' men despise 
The word that from out thy heart 
Flameth; do thou thy part. 
Thrice speak it, aloud, I say, 
Then go, released, on thy way; 
Live thou deeply and wise; 
Suffer as never before; 
Know joy, till it cuts to the quick; 
Eat the apple, Life, to the core. 
Be thou curst 

By them thou hast blest, by the sick 
Whom thou in thy weakness nursed. 
With thy strength the faint endue; 
Be praised when 't were better to blame; 
In the home of thy spirit be true, 
Tho' the voice of the street cry shame. 
Be silent till all is done. 
Then return, in the light of the sun. 
And once more sing. 
O, then fling 

Into music thy soul ! Tell the seas 
Again all thy thought; O, be strong 
Thy voice as the voice of the waves, as the voice of the 

trees ! 
Tell the blast. 
That shall shudder as onward it flies 



THE POET AND HIS MASTER 43 

^ith thy word, with thy song; 

Tell the skies, 

And the world, that shall listen at last ! 



THE POET AND HIS MASTER 

One day the poet's harp lay on the ground, 
Tho' from it rose a strange and trembling sound 
What time the wind swept over with a moan, 
Or, now and then, a faint and tinkling tone 
When a dead leaf fell shuddering from a tree 
And shook the silent wires all tremulously; 
And near it, dumb with sorrow, and alone 
The poet sat. His heart was like a stone. 

Then one drew near him who was robed in white: 

It was the poet's master; he had given 

To him that harp, once in a happy night 

When every silver star that shone in heaven 

Made music ne'er before was heard by mortal wight. 

And thus the master spoke : — 

"Why is thy voice 
Silent, O poet ? Why upon the grass 
Lies thy still harp ? The fitful breezes pass 
And stir the wires, but the skilled player's hand 
Moves not upon them. Poet, wake ! Rejoice ! 
Sing and arouse the melancholy land!" 

' Master, forbear. I may not sing to-day ; 
My nearest friend, the brother of my heart, 
This day is stricken with sorrow; he must part 
From her who loves him. Can I sing, and play 
Upon the joyous harp, and mock his woe?" 



44 THE CELESTIAL PASSION 

"Alas, and hast thou then so soon forgot 
The bond that with thy gift of song did go — 
Severe as fate, fixt and unchangeable? 
Even tho' his heart be sounding its own knell, 
Dost thou not know this is the poet's lot: 
'Mid sounds of war, in halcyon times of peace. 
To strike the ringing wire and not to cease; 
In hours of general happiness to swell 
The common joy; and when the people cry 
With piteous voice loud to the pitiless sky, 
'T is his to frame the universal prayer 
And breathe the balm of song upon the accursed air?'* 

" But 't is not, O my master ! that I borrow 
The robe of grief to deck my brother's sorrow — 
Mine eyes have seen beyond the veil of youth; 
I know what Life is, have caught sight of Truth; 
My heart is dead within me; a thick pall 
Darkens the midday sun." 

"And dost thou call 
This sorrow? Call this knowledge? O thou blind 
And ignorant! Know, then, thou yet shalt find, 
Ere thy full days are numbered 'neath the sun. 
Thou, in thy shallow youth, hadst but begun 
To guess what knowledge is, what grief may be, 
And all the infinite sum of human misery; 
Shalt find that for each drop of perfect good 
Thou payest, at last, a threefold price in blood; 
What is most noble in thee, — every thought 
Highest and best, — crusht, spat upon, and brought . 
To an open shame; thy natural ignorance 
Counted thy crime ; the world all ruled by chance. 
Save that the good most suffer; but above 



MORS TRIUMPHALIS 45 

These ills another, cruel, monstrous, worse 
Than all before — thy pure and passionate love 
Shall bring the old, immitigable curse." 

"And thou, who telFst me this, dost bid me sing?" 

"I bid thee sing, even tho' I have not told 
All the deep flood of anguish shall be rolled 
Across thy breast. Nor, Poet, shalt thou bring 
From out those depths thy grief ! Tell to the wind 
Thy private woes, but not to human ear, 
Save in the shape of comfort for thy kind. 
But never hush thy song, dare not to cease 
While life is thine. Haply, 'mid those who hear, 
Thy music to one soul shall murmur peace, 
Tho' for thyself it hath no power to cheer. 

"Then shall thy still unbroken spirit grow 
Strong in its silent sufifering and more wise; 
And, — as the drenched and thunder-shaken skies 
Pass into golden sunset, — thou shalt know 
An end of calm, when evening breezes blow; 
And, looking on thy life with vision fine, 
Shalt see the shadow of a hand divine." 



MORS TRIUMPHALIS 

I 

In the hall of the king the loud mocking of many at one ; 
While lo ! with his hand on his harp the old bard is undone! 
One false note, then he stammers, he sobs like a child, he 

is failing. 
And the song that so bravely began ends in discord and 

wailing. 



46 THE CELESTIAL PASSION 



Can it be it is they who make merry, 't is they taunting 
him? 

Shall the sun, then, be scorned by the planets, the tree 
by the limb! 

These bardlings, these mimics, these echoes, these shad- 
ows at play, 

While he only is real ; — they shine but as motes in his 
day! 

in 

All that in them is best is from him ; all they know he has 

taught ; 
But one secret he never could teach, and they never have 

caught — 
The soul of his songs, that goes sighing like wind through 

the reeds. 
And thrills men, and moves them to terror, to prayer, 

and to deeds. 

IV 

Has the old poet failed, then — the singer forgotten his 

art? 
Why, 't was he who once startled the world with a cry 

from his heart; 
And he held it entranced in a life-song, all music, all love ; 
If now it grow faint and grow still, they have called him 

above. 



Ah, never again shall we hear such fierce music and 

sweet — 
Surely never from you, ye who mock, for his footstool 

unmeet ; 



MORS TRIUMPHALIS 47 

E'en his song left unsung had more power than the note 

ye prolong, 
And one sweep of his harp-strings outpassioned the 

hight of your song. 

VI 

But a sound like the voice of the pine, like the roar of the 

sea 
Arises. He breathes now; he sings; O, again he is 

free. 
He has flung from his flesh, from his spirit, their shackles 

accurst, 
And he pours all his heart, all his life, in one passionate 

burst. 

VII 

And now as he chants those who listen turn pale, are 

afraid ; 
For he sings of a God that made all, and is all that was 

made; 
Who is maker of love, and of hate, and of peace, and of 

strife ; 
Smiles a heaven into being; frowns a hell, that yet 

thrills with His life. 

VIII 

And he sings of the time that shall be when the earth is 

grown old; 
Of the day when the sun shall be withered, and shrunken, 

and cold; 
When the stars, and the moon, and the sun, — all their 

glory o'erpast, — 
Like apples that shrivel and rot, shall drop into the 

Vast. 



48 THE CELESTIAL PASSION 

IX 

And onward and out soars his song on its journey sub- 
lime, 

'Mid systems that vanish or live in the lilt of his rhyme; 

And through making and marring of races, and worlds, 
still he sings 

One theme, that o'er all and through all his wild music 
outrings — 

X 

This one theme : that whatever be the fate that has hurt 

us or joyed ; 
Whatever the face that is turned to us out of the void; 
Be it cursing or blessing; or night, or the light of the 

sun; 
Be it ill, be it good; be it life, be it death, it is One; — 

XI 

One thought, and one law, and one awful and infinite 

power; 
In atom, and world; in the bursting of fruit and of 

flower ; 
The laughter of children, and roar of the lion untamed; 
And the stars in their courses — one name that can never 

be named. 

XII 

But sudden a silence has fallen, the music has fled; 

Tho' he leans with his hand on his harp, now indeed 
he is dead; 

But the swan-song he sang shall for ever and ever abide 

In the heart of the world, with the winds and the murmur- 
ing tide. 



A CHRISTMAS HYMN 49 

THE MASTER-POETS 

He the great World-Musician at whose stroke 
The stars of morning into music broke; 
He from whose Being Infinite are caught 
All harmonies of Hght, and sound, and thought — 
Once in each age, to keep the world in tune, 
He strikes a note sublime. Nor late, nor soon, 
A godlike soul, — music and passion's birth, — 
Vibrates across the discord of the earth 
And sets the world aright. 

O, these are they 
Who on men's hearts with mightiest power can play — 
The master-poets of humanity. 
From heaven sent down to lift men to the sky. 

PART II 
A CHRISTMAS HYMN 



Tell me what is this innumerable throng 
Singing in the heavens a loud angelic song? 

These are they who come with swift and shining feet 
From round about the throne oj God the Lord oj Light 
to greet. 

n 

O, who are these that hasten beneath the starry sky. 
As if with joyful tidings that through the world shall fly ? 
The faithful shepherds these, who greatly were afeared 
When, as they watched their flocks by night, the heav- 
enly host appeared. 



50 THE CELESTIAL PASSION 

III 

Who are these that follow across the hills of night 
A star that westward hurries along the fields of light? 
Three wise men from the east who myrrh and treasure 

bring 
To lay them at the feet of him their Lord and Christ 
and King, 

IV 

What babe new-born is this that in a manger cries? 
Near on her bed of pain his happy mother lies. 

O, see ! the air is shaken with white and heavenly 

wings — 
This is the Lord of all the earth, this is the King of 
Kings. 



Tell me, how may I join in this holy feast 

With all the kneeling world, and I of all the least? 

Fear not, O faithful heart, but bring what most is 

meet : 
Bring love alone, true love alone, and lay it at his 
feet. 

EASTER 

I 

When in the starry gloom 
They sought the Lord Christ's tomb, 
Two angels stood in sight, 
All drest in burning white, 
Who unto the women said: 
"Why seek ye the living among the dead?" 



EASTER 51 

^ n 

His life, his hope, his heart, 
With death they had no part; 
For this those words of scorn 
First heard that holy morn. 
When the waiting angels said : 
"Why seek ye the living among the dead?" 

Ill 

O, ye of this latter day. 
Who journey the selfsame way — 
Through morning's twihght gloom 
Back to the shadowy tomb; 
To you, as to them, was it said: 
" Why seek ye the living among the dead ? " 

IV 

The Lord is risen indeed. 
He is here for your love, for your need — 
Not in the grave, nor the sky. 
But here where men live and die; 
And true the word that was said: 
"Why seek ye the living among the dead?" 



Wherever are tears and sighs, 

Wherever are children's eyes, 

Where man calls man his brother, 

And loves as himself another, 

Christ lives! The angels said: 

'Why seek ye the living among the dead? 



52 THE CELESTIAL PASSION 



A MADONNA OF ERA LIPPO LIPPI 

No heavenly maid we here behold, 
Tho' round her brow a ring of gold; 
This baby, solemn-eyed and sweet, 
Is human all from head to feet. 

Together close her palms are prest 
In worship of that godly guest; 
But glad her heart and unafraid 
While on her neck his hand is laid. 

Two children, happy, laughing, gay, 

Uphold the little child in play; 

Not flying angels these, what tho' 

Four wings from their four shoulders grow. 

Fra Lippo, we have learned from thee 
A lesson of humanity; 
To every mother's heart forlorn, 
In every house the Christ is born. 



COST 

Because Heaven's cost is Hell, and perfect joy 
Hurts as hurts sorrow; and because we win 
Some boon of grace with the dread cost of sin, 
Or suffering born of sin; because the alloy 

Of blood but makes the bliss of victory brighter; 
Because true worth hath surest proof herein, 
That it should be reproached, and called akin 
To evil things — black making white the whiter; 

Because no cost seems great near this — that He 



HOLY LAND 53 

Should pay the ransom wherewith we were priced; 
And none could name a darker infamy 
Than that a god was spit upon, — enticed 

By those he came to save, to the accursed tree, — 
For this I know that Christ indeed is Christ. 

THE SONG OF A HEATHEN 

(sojourning in GALILEE, A. D. 32) 

I 

If Jesus Christ is a man, — 

And only a man, — I say 
That of all mankind I cleave to him, 

And to him will I cleave alway. 



If Jesus Christ is a God, — 

And the only God, — I swear 
I will follow Him through heaven and hell, 

The earth, the sea, and the air! 

HOLY LAND 

This is the earth he walked on; not alone 
That Asian country keeps the sacred stain ; 
Ah, not alone the far Judaean plain, 
Mountain and river! Lo, the sun that shone 

On him, shines now on us; when day is gone 
The moon of Galilee comes forth again 
And Hghts our path as his; an endless chain 
Of years and sorrows makes the round world one. 

The air we breathe, he breathed — ■ the very air 
That took the mold and music of his high 
And godlike speech. Since then shall mortal dare 



54 THE CELESTIAL PASSION 

With base thought front the ever-sacred sky — 
Soil with foul deed the ground whereon he laid 
In holy death his pale, immortal head! 



ON A PORTRAIT OF SERVETUS 

Thou grim and haggard wanderer, who dost look 
With haunting eyes forth from the narrow page ! 
I know what fires consumed with inward rage 
Thy broken frame, what tempests chilled and shook. 

Ah, could not thy remorseless foeman brook 

Time's sure devourment, but must needs assuage 

His anger in thy blood, and blot the age 

With that dark crime which virtue's semblance took! 

Servetus! that which slew thee lives to-day, 
Tho' in new forms it taints our modern air; 
Still in heaven's name the deeds of hell are done; 

Still on the high-road, 'neath the noonday sun, 
The fires of hate are lit for them who dare 
Follow their Lord along the untrodden way. 

"DESPISE NOT THOU" 

Despise not thou thy father's ancient creed; 
Of his pure life it was the golden thread 
Whereon bright days were gathered, bead by bead. 
Till death laid low that dear and reverend head. 

From olden faith how many a glorious deed 
Hath lit the world; its blood-stained banner led 
The martyrs heavenward; yea, it was the seed 
Of knowledge, whence our modern freedom spread. 

Not always has man's credo proved a snare — 
But a deliverance, a sign, a flame 
To purify the dense and pestilent air, 



RECOGNITION 55 

Writing on pitiless heavens one pitying name; 
And 'neath the shadow of the dread eclipse 
It shines on dying eyes and paUid lips. 



"TO REST FROM WEARY WORK" 

To REST from weary work one day of seven; 
One day to turn our backs upon the world, 
Its soil wash from us, and strive on to Heaven — 
Whereto we daily climb, but quick are hurled 

Down to the pit of human pride and sin. 
Help me, ye powers celestial! to come nigh; 
Ah, let me catch one little glimpse within 
The heavenly city, lest my spirit die. 

These be my guides, my messengers, my friends: 
Books of wise poets; the musician's art; 
The ocean whose deep music never ends; 

The silence of the forest's shadowy heart; 
Not less the brooding organ's solemn blare, 
And kneeling multitudes' low-murmuring prayer. 



PART III 
RECOGNITION 



In darkness of the visionary night 

This I beheld: Wide space and therein God, 

God who in dual nature doth abide — 

Love, and the Loved One, Power and Beauty's self; 

Him even the spirit's eye might not transfix 

But sidelong gazed, fainting before the light. 

And forth from God did come, — with dreadful thrill, 

And starry music like to million wires 



56 THE CELESTIAL PASSION 

That shiver with the breathings of the dawn, — 

Creation, boundless, bodiless, unformed, 

And white with trembling fire and light intense, 

And outward pulsings like the boreal flame. 

One mighty cloud it seemed, nor star, nor earth, 

Or like a nameless growth of the under-seas; 

Creation dumb, unconscious, yet alive 

With some deep, inward passion unexprest, 

And swift, concentric, never-ceasing urge — 

Resolving gradual to one disk of fire. 

And as I looked, behold! the flying rim 

Grew separate from the center; this again 

Divided, and the whole still swift revolved, 

Ring within ring, and fiery wheel in wheel; 

Till, sudden or slow as chanced, the outmost edge 

Whirled into fragments, each a separate sun, 

With lesser globes attendant on its flight. 

These while I gazed turned dark with smoldering fire 

And, slow contracting, grew to solid orbs. 

Then knew I that this planetary world, 

Cradled in light, and curtained with the dawn 

And starry eve, was born; tho' in itself 

Complete and perfect all, yet but a part 

And atom of the living universe. 



Unconscious still the child of the conscious God — 

Creation, born of Beauty and of Love, 

Beauty the womb and mother of all worlds. 

But soon with breathless speed the new-made earth 

Swept near me where I watched the birth of things, 

Its greatening bulk eclipsing, star by star. 

Half the bright heavens. Then I beheld crawl forth 

Upon the earth's cool crust most wondrous forms 



HYMN 57 

Wherein were hid, in transmutation strange, 
Sparks of the ancient, never-ending fire; 
Shapes moved not solely by exterior law 
But having will and motion of their own — • 
First sluggish and minute, then by degrees 
Monstrous, enorm. Then other forms more fine 
Streamed ceaseless on my sight, until at last, 
Rising and turning its slow gaze about 
Across the abysmal void, the mighty child 
Of the supreme, divine Omnipotence — 
Creation, born of God, by Him begot, 
Conscious in Man, no longer blind and dumb, 
Beheld and knew its father and its God. 

HYMN 

SUNG AT THE PRESENTATION OF THE OBELISK TO THE 
CITY OF NEW YORK, FEBRUARY 22, 1881 

I 

Great God, to whom since time began 

The world has prayed and striven; 
Maker of stars, and earth, and man, 
To Thee our praise is given. 
Here, by this ancient Sign 
Of Thine own Light divine. 
We lift to Thee our eyes. 
Thou Dweller of the Skies; 
Hear us, O God in Heaven ! 

n 

Older than Nilus' mighty flood 

Into the Mid-Sea pouring, 
Or than the sea, Thou God hast stood — 

Thou God of our adoring! 



58 THE CELESTIAL PASSION 

Waters and stormy blast 
Haste when Thou bid'st them haste; 
Silent, and hid, and still, 
Thou sendest good and ill; 
Thy ways are past exploring. 

Ill 

In myriad forms, by myriad names, 
Men seek to bind and mold Thee; 
But Thou dost melt, like wax in flames, 
The cords that would enfold Thee. 
Who madest life and light, 
Bring'st morning after night, 
Who all things didst create — 
No majesty, nor state. 
Nor word, nor world can hold Thee! 

IV 

Great God, to whom since time began 
The world has prayed and striven ; 
Maker of stars, and earth, and man, 
To Thee our praise is given. 
Of suns Thou art the Sun, 
^ Eternal, holy One; 

Who us can help save Thou? 
To Thee alone we bow ! 
Hear us, O God in heaven ! 

A THOUGHT 

Once, looking from a window on a land 
That lay in silence underneath the sun, — 
A land of broad, green meadows, through which 
poured 



THE VOICE OF THE PINE 59 

Two rivers, slowly widening to the sea, — 
Thus as I looked, I know not how nor whence, 
Was born into my unexpectant soul 
That thought, late learned by anxious-witted man, 
The infinite patience of the Eternal Mind. 

THE VOICE OF THE PINE 

'T IS night upon the lake. Our bed of boughs 
Is built where, high above, the pine-tree soughs. 
'T is still — and yet what woody noises loom 
Against the background of the silent gloom ! 
One well might hear the opening of a flower 
If day were husht as this. A mimic shower 
Just shaken from a branch, how large it sounded. 
As 'gainst our canvas roof its three drops bounded ! 
Across the rumpling waves the hoot-owl's bark 
Tolls forth the midnight hour upon the dark. 
What mellow booming from the hills doth come ? — 
The mountain quarry strikes its mighty drum. 

Long had we lain beside our pine-wood fire, 
From things of sport our talk had risen higher. 
How frank and intimate the words of men 
When tented lonely in some forest glen! 
No dallying now with masks, from whence emerges 
Scarce one true feature forth. The night-wind urges 
To straight and simple speech. So was our thought 
Audible ; secrets to the light were brought. 
The hid and spiritual hopes, the wild. 
Unreasoned longings that, from child to child. 
Mortals still cherish (tho' with modern shame) — 
To these, and things like these, we gave a name; 
And as we talked, the intense and resinous fire 



6o THE CELESTIAL PASSION 

Lit up the towering boles, till nigh and nigher 

They gathered round, a ghostly company, 

Like beasts who seek to know what men may be. 

Then to our hemlock beds, but not to sleep — 
For listening to the stealthy steps that creep 
About the tent, or falling branch, but most 
A noise was like the rustling of a host, 
Or like the sea that breaks upon the shore — 
It was the pine-tree's murmur. More and more 
It took a human sound. These words I felt 
Into the skyey darkness float and melt : — 

"Heardst thou these wanderers reasoning of a time 
When men more near the Eternal One shall climb? 
How like the new-born child, who cannot tell 
A mother's arm that wraps it warm and well! 
Leaves of His rose ; drops in His sea that flow, — 
Are they, alas, so blind they may not know 
Here, in this breathing world of joy and fear, 
We can no nearer get to God than here." 



MORNING, NOON, AND NIGHT 

The mountain that the morn doth kiss 
Glad greets its shining neighbor; 

Lord! heed the homage of our bliss, 
The incense of our labor. 

Sharp smites the sun like burning rain, 
And field and flower languish; 

Hear, Lord! the pleading of our pain, 
The passion of our anguish. 



THE SOUL 6l 

Now the long shadows eastward creep, 

The golden sun is setting; 
Take, Lord ! the worship of our sleep, 

The praise of our forgetting. 

"DAY UNTO DAY UTTERETH SPEECH" 

The speech that day doth utter, and the night. 
Full oft to mortal ears it hath no sound; 
Dull are our eyes to read upon the ground 
What's written there; and stars are hid by light. 

So when the dark doth fall, awhile our sight 
Kens the unwonted orbs that circle round, 
Then quick in sleep our human sense is bound — 
Speechless for us the starry heavens and bright. 

But when the day doth close there is one word 
That's writ amid the sunset's golden embers; 
And one at morn ; by them our hearts are stirred : 

Splendor of Dawn, and Evening that remembers; 
These are the rhymes of God; thus, line on line, 
Our souls are moved to thoughts that are divine. 



PART IV 

THE SOUL 

Three messengers to me from heaven came 
And said: "There is a deathless human soul; 
It is not lost, as is the fiery flame 
That dies into the undistinguished whole. 

Ah, no; it separate is, distinct as God — 
Nor any more than He can it be killed; 
Then fearless give thy body to the clod, 
For naught can quench the light that once it filled! " 



62 THE CELESTIAL PASSION 

Three messengers — the first was human Love ; 

The second voice came crying in the night 

With strange and awful music from above; 
None who have heard that voice forget it quite; 

Birth is it named; the third, O, turn not pale! 

'T was Death to the undying soul cried, Hail ! 



"WHEN LOVE DAWNED" 

When love dawned on that world which is my mind, 
Then did the outer world wherein I went 
Suffer a sudden, strange transfigurement ; 
It was as if new sight were given the blind. 

Then where the shore to the wide sea inclined 
I watched with new eyes the new sun's ascent; 
My heart was stirred within me as I leant 
And listened to a voice in every wind. 

O purple sea! O joy beyond control! 

O land of love and youth ! O happy throng ! 
Were ye then real, or did ye only seem ? 

Dear is that morning twilight of the soul, — 
The mystery, the waking voice of song, — 
For now I know it was not all a dream. 



LOVE AND DEATH 
I 

Now who can take from us what we have known - 
We that have looked into each other's eyes? 
Tho' sudden night should blacken all the skies, 
The day is ours, and what the day has shown. 

What we have seen and been, hath not this grown 
Part of our very selves? We, made love-wise, 



FATHER AND CHILD 63 

What power shall slay our living memories, 
And who shall take from us what is our own ? 

So, when a shade of the last parting fell, 
This thought gave peace, as he deep comfort hath 
Who, thirsting, drinks cool waters from a well. 

But soon I felt more near that fatal breath; 
More near he drew, till I his face could tell, 
Till then unseen, unknown — I looked on Death. 

II 

We know not where they tarry who have died; 

The gate wherein they entered is made fast; 

No living mortal hath seen one who past 

Hither, from out that darkness deep and wide. 
We lean on Faith; and some less wise have cried: 

"Behold the butterfly, the seed that's cast!" 

Vain hopes that fall like flowers before the blast! 

What man can look on Death unterrified? — 
Who love can never die! They are a part 

Of all that lives beneath the summer sky; 

With the world's living soul their souls are one; 
Nor shall they in vast nature be undone 

And lost in the general life. Each separate heart 

Shall live, and find its own, and never die. 

FATHER AND CHILD 

Beneath the deep and solemn midnight sky, 
At this last verge and boundary of time 
I stand, and listen to the starry chime 
That sounds to the inward ear, and will not die. 

Now do the thoughts that daily hidden lie 
Arise, and live in a celestial clime, — 
Unutterable thoughts, most high, sublime, — 
Crossed by one dread that frights mortality. 



64 THE CELESTIAL PASSION 

Thus, as I muse, I hear my little child 
Sob in its sleep within the cottage near — 
My own dear child! Gone is that mortal doubt! 

The Power that drew our lives forth from the wild 
Our Father is; we shall to Him be dear, 
Nor from His universe be blotted out! 



BEYOND THE BRANCHES OF THE PINE" 

Beyond the branches of the pine 
The golden sun no more doth shine. 

But still the solemn afterglow 
Floods the deep heavens with light divine. 

The night-wind stirs the corn-field near, 
The gray moon turns to silver clear. 

And one by one the glimmering stars 
In the blue dome of heaven appear. 

Now do the mighty hosts of light 
Across the darkness take their flight; 

They rise above the eastern hill 
And silent journey through the night. 

And there beneath the starry zone, 
In the deep, narrow grave, alone. 

Rests all that mortal was of her, 
The purest spirit I have known. 

AN AUTUMN MEDITATION 

As the long day of cloud and storm and sun 

Dechnes into the dark and silent night. 

So past the old man's life from human gaze; 



AN AUTUMN MEDITATION 65 

But not till sunset, full of lovely light 
And color that the day might not reveal, 
Bathed in soft gloom the landscape. 

Thus, kind Heaven, 
Let me, too, die when Autumn holds the year, — 
Serene, with tender hues and bracing airs, — 
And near me those I love; with no black thoughts, 
Nor dread of what may come ! Yea, when I die 
Let me not miss from nature the cool rush 
Of northern winds; let Autumn sunset skies 
Be golden; let the cold, clear blue of night 
Whiten with stars as now! then shall I fade 
From life to life — pass on the year's full tide 
Into the swell and vast of the outer sea 
Beyond this narrow world. 

For Autumn days 
To me not melancholy are, but full 
Of joy and hope, mysterious and high ; 
And with strange promise rife. Then it meseems 
Not failing is the year, but gathering fire 
Even as the cold increases. 

Grows a weed 
More richly here beside our mellow seas 
That is the Autumn's harbinger and pride. 
When fades the cardinal-flower, whose heart-red bloom 
Glows like a living coal upon the green 
Of the midsummer meadows, then how bright, 
How deepening bright, like mounting flame doth burn 
The goldenrod upon a thousand hills! 
This is the Autumn's flower, and to my soul 
A token fresh of beauty and of life, 
And life's supreme delight. 



66 THE CELESTIAL PASSION 

When I am gone, 
Something of me I would might subtly pass 
Within these flowers twain of all the year; 
So might my spirit send a sudden stir 
Into the hearts of those who love these hills, 
These woods, these waves, and meadows by the sea. 

"CALL ME NOT DEAD" 

Call me not dead when I, indeed, have gone 
Into the company of the everliving 
High and most glorious poets ! Let thanksgiving 
Rather be made. Say: "He at last hath won 

Rest and release, converse supreme and wise, 
Music and song and light of immortal faces; 
To-day, perhaps, wandering in starry places, 
He hath met Keats, and known him by his eyes. 

To-morrow (who can say?) Shakespeare may pass, 
And our lost friend just catch one syllable 
Of that three-centuried wit that kept so well; 

Or Milton ; or Dante, looking on the grass 
Thinking of Beatrice, and listening still 
To chanted hymns that sound from the heavenly hill." 

"EACH MOMENT HOLY IS" 

Each moment holy is, for out from God 
Each moment flashes forth a human soul. 
Holy each moment is, for back to Him 
Some wandering soul each moment home returns. 

"WHEN TO SLEEP I MUST" 

When to sleep I must 
Where my fathers sleep; 



THE EVENING STAR 67 

When fulfilled the trust, 
And the mourners weep; 
When, tho' free from rust. 
Sword hath lost its worth — 
Let me bring to earth 
No dishonored dust. 



TO A DEPARTED FRIEND 

Dear friend, who lovedst well this pleasant life! 

One year ago it is this very day 

Since thou didst take thy uncompanioned way 

Into the silent land, from out the strife 
And joyful tumult of the world. The knife 

Wherewith that sorrow cut us still doth stay, 

And we, to whom thou daily didst betray 

Thy gentle soul, with faith and worship rife, 
Love thee not less but more — as time doth go 

And we too hasten toward that land unknown 

Where those most dear are gathering one by one. 
The power divine that here did touch thy heart — 

Hath this withdrawn from thee, where now thou art? 

Would thou indeed couldst tell what thou dost know! 

"THE EVENING STAR" 

The evening star trembles and hides from him 
Who fain would hold it with imperious stare; 
Yet, to the averted eye, lo! unaware 
It shines serene, no longer shy and dim. 

O, slow and sweet, its chalice to the brim 
Fills the leaf-shadowed grape with rich and rare 
Cool sunshine, caught from the white circling air! 
Home from his journey to the round world's rim, — 



68 THE CELESTIAL PASSION 

Through lonely lands, through cloudy seas and vext, 
At last the Holy Grail met Launfal's sight. 
So when my friend lost him who was her next 

Of soul, — hfe of her life, — all day the fight 
Raged with a dumb and pitiless God. Perplext 
She slept. Heaven sent its cpmfort in the night. 

LIFE 



Great Universe — what dost thou with thy dead! 

Now thinking on the myriads that have gone 

Into a seeming blank obhvion. 

With here and there a most resplendent head, — 
Eyes of such trancing sweetness, or so dread. 

That made the soul to quake who looked thereon, — 

All utterly wiped out, dismissed, and done; 

Lost, speechless, viewless, and forever fled! 
Myriad on myriad, past the power to count ; — 

Where are they, thou dumb Nature? Do they shine. 

Released from separate life, in summer airs, 
On moony seas, in dawns? — or up the stairs 

Of spiritual being slowly mount 
" And by degrees grow more and more divine ? 

II 

Ah, thou wilt never answer to our call, 

Thou Voiceless One — naught in thee can be stirred. 
What tho' the soul, like to a frightened bird, 
Dash itself wildly 'gainst thy mountain-wall. 

From Nature comes no answer, tho' we fall 
In utmost anguish praying to be heard, 
Or peer below, or our brave spirits gird 
For steep and starry flight ; 't is silent all. 



UNDYING LIGHT 69 

In vain to question — save the heart of man, 
The throbbing human heart, that still doth keep 
Its truth, love, hope, its high and quenchless faith. 

By day, by night, when all else faints in sleep, 

"Naught is but Life," it cries; "there is no death; 
Life, Life doth only live, since Life began." 

THE FREED SPIRIT 

Brother of sorrow and mortality! 

Not always shall we chide the failing flesh 

That lets the netted soul to silence fly. 

Like a wild bird that breaks the treacherous mesh; 

Not always shall men curse in stormy sky 
The laughter and the fury of a Power 
That sees its chance-born children sink and die — 
Hurling or death or life for dole or dower. 

Who deep his spirit searches can deny 
O nevermore, that life doth leave a trace 
Of something not all heavenly; tho' we try 

Daily to turn toward Heaven a stedfast face. 

Even grief doth soil us with its poisonous breath — 
Then free our spirits utterly, pure Death! 

UNDYING LIGHT 



When in the golden western summer skies 
A flaming glory starts, and slowly fades 
Through crimson tone on tone to deeper shades, 
There falls a silence, while the daylight dies 

Lingering — but not with human agonies 
That tear the soul, or terror that degrades; 
A holy peace the failing world pervades. 
Nor any fear of that which onward lies. 



70 THE CELESTIAL PASSION 

For well, ah well, the darkened vale recalls 
A thousand times ten thousand vanished suns; 
Ten thousand sunsets from whose blackened walls 

Reflamed the white and living day that runs. 
In light which brings all beauty to the birth, 
Deathless forever round the ancient earth. 

n 

O Thou the Lord and Maker of life and light! 
Full heavy are the burdens that do weigh 
Our spirits earthward, as through twilight gray 
We journey to the end and rest of night; 

Tho' well we know to the deep inward sight 
Darkness is but Thy shadow, and the day 
Where Thou art never dies, but sends its ray 
Through the wide universe with restless might. 

O Lord of Light, steep Thou our souls in Thee ! 
That when the daylight trembles into shade. 
And falls the silence of mortality. 

And all is done, we shall not be afraid. 

But pass from light to light; from earth's dull gleam 
Into the very heart and heaven of our dream. 



LYRICS 



LYRICS 

PART I 

ODE 



I AM the spirit of the morning sea; 

I am the awakening and the glad surprise; 

I fill the skies 

With laughter and with light. 

Not tears, but jollity 

At birth of day brim the strong man-child's eyes. 

Behold the white 

Wide threefold beams that from the hidden sun 

Rise swift and far — 

One where Orion keeps 

His armed watch, and one 

That to the midmost starry heaven upleaps; 

The third blots out the firm-fixt Northern Star. 

I am the wind that shakes the glittering wave, 
Hurries the snowy spume along the shore 
And dies at last in some far, murmuring cave. 
My voice thou hearest in the breaker's roar — 
That sound which never failed since time began, 
And first around the world the shining tumult ran. 

II 

I light the sea and wake the sleeping land. 
My footsteps on the hills make music, and my hand 
Plays like a harper's on the wind-swept pines. 



74 LYRICS 

With the wind and the day 
I follow round the world — away ! away ! 
Wide over lake and plain my sunlight shines 
And every wave and every blade of grass 
Doth know me as I pass; 

And me the western sloping mountains know, and me 
The far-off, golden sea. 

sea, whereon the passing sun doth lie ! 
O man, who watchest by that golden sea! 
Grieve not, O, grieve not thou, but lift thine eye 
And see me glorious in the sunset sky! 

Ill 

1 love not the night 

Save when the stars are bright, 
Or when the moon 

Fills the white air with silence like a tune. 
Yea, even the night is mine 
When the Northern Lights outshine. 
And all the wild heavens throb in ecstasy divine ; — 
Yea, mine deep midnight, tho' the black sky lowers, 
When the sea burns white and breaks on the shore in 
starry showers. 

IV 

I am the laughter of the new-born child 
On whose soft-breathing sleep an angel smiled. 
And I all sweet first things that are : 
First songs of birds, not perfect as at last, — 
Broken and incomplete, — 
But .sweet, O, sweet! 
And I the first faint glimmer of a star 
To the wreckt ship that tells the storm is past; 
The first keen smells and stirrings of the Spring; 



A SONG OF EARLY SUMMER 75 

First snowflakes, and first May-flowers after snow; 

The silver glow 

Of the new moon's ethereal ring; 

The song the morning stars together made, 

And the first kiss of lovers under the first June shade. 



My sword is quick, my arm is strong to smite 
In the dread joy and fury of the fight. 
I am with those who win, not those who fly; 
With those who five I am, not those who die. 
Who die? Nay, nay, that word 
Where I am is unheard; 

For I am the spirit of youth that cannot change, 
Nor cease, nor suffer woe; 
And I am the spirit of beauty that doth range 
Through natural forms and motions, and each show 
Of outward loveliness. With me have birth 
xAll gentleness and joy in all the earth. 
Raphael knew me, and showed the world my face; 
Me Homer knew, and all the singing race — 
For I am the spirit of light, and life, and mirth. 

A SONG OF EARLY SUMMER 

Not yet the orchard lifted 
Its cloudy bloom to the sky, 

Nor through the dim twilight drifted 
The whippoorwill's low cry; 

The gray rock had not made 
Of the vine its glistening kirtle; 

Nor shook in the locust shade 
The purple bells of the "myrtle." 



76 LYRICS 

Not yet up the chimney-hollow 
Was heard in the darkling night 

The boom and whir of the swallow, 
And the twitter that follows the flight; 

Before the foamy whitening 

Of the water below the mill; 
Ere yet the summer lightning 

Shone red at the edge of the hill; 

In the time of sun and showers, 
Of skies half black, half clear; 

'Twixt melting snows and flowers; 
At the poise of the flying year; 

When woods flusht pink and yellow 

In dreams of leafy June; 
And days were keen or mellow 

Like tones in a changing tune; 

Before the birds had broken 

Forth in their song divine, 
O, then the word was spoken 

That made my darling mine. 

A MIDSUMMER SONG 

O, father's gone to market-town, he was up before the 

day. 
And Jamie's after robins, and the man is making hay, 
And whistling down the hollow goes the boy that minds 

the mill, 
While mother from the kitchen-door is calling with a will : 
" Polly ! — Polly ! — The cows are in the corn ! 
O, Where's Polly?" 



ON THE WILD ROSE TREE 77 

From all the misty morning air there comes a summer 

sound — 
A murmur as of waters from skies and trees and ground. 
The birds they sing upon the wing, the pigeons bill and 

coo, 
And over hill and hollow rings again the loud halloo: 

" Polly ! — Polly ! — The cows are in the corn ! 
O, Where's Polly?" 

Above the trees the honey-bees swarm by with buzz and 

boom, 
And in the field and garden a thousand blossoms bloom. 
Within the farmer's meadow a brown-eyed daisy blows, 
And down at the edge of the hollow a red and thorny 
rose. 

But Polly ! — Polly ! — The cows are in the corn! 
O, Where's Polly? 

How strange at such a time of day the mill should stop 

its clatter' 
The farmer's wife is listening now and wonders what's 

the matter. 
O, wild the birds are singing in the wood and on the hill, 
While whistling up the hollow goes the boy that minds 
the mill. 
But Polly ! — Polly ! — The cows are in the corn ! 
O, where 's Polly? 

"ON THE WILD ROSE TREE" 

On the wild rose tree 
Many buds there be, 
Yet each sunny hour 
Hath but one perfect flower. 



78 LYRICS 

Thou who wouldst be wise 
Open wide thine eyes; 
In each sunny hour 
Pluck the one perfect flower! 

« BEYOND ALL BEAUTY IS THE UNKNOWN 
GRACE" 

Beyond all beauty is the unknown grace; 

Above all bliss a higher; and above 

The lovingest is a more loving love 

That shows not the still anguish of its face. 
Than death there is a deathlier. Brief space 

Behind despair the blacker shadows rove; 

Beneath all life a deeper life doth move: 

So, friends of mine, when empty is my place, — 
For me no more grass grows, dead leaves are stirred, — 

And still the songs that once you loved to hear; 

True friends whom well I thank for every word 
Of heart-help, — praise or blame, — as you draw near 

I pray that 'mid your tears this may be heard: 

"For what he never did he is most dear." 

THE VIOLET 

A VIOLET lay in the grass, 
A tear in its golden eye; 
And it said: "Alas and alas! 
The night is over and gone, 
Another day is anigh. 
And I am alone, alone ! 
There is none to care if I die. 
There is none to be glad that I live; 
The lovers they pass me by 



THE VIOLET 79 

And never a glance they give. 

And I could love so well, so well! 

If one would but tarry and tell 

A tale that was told to me only : — 

My lover might go his ways, 

But through all the nights and the days 

I should never again be lonely! " 

Then sudden there fell a look 

Into that violet's heart. 

It lifted its face with a start; 

It arose; it trembled and shook. 

At last, O, at last! " it cried; 

Down drooped its head, and it died. 

Is God in Heaven! Is the light 

Of the moons, and the stars, and the suns, 

His — or the Evil One^s, 

Is He cruel, or mad, or right 1 

The lily that grew by the wall, 

Its heart was heavy with bliss. 

In the night it heard a call; 

It listened, it felt a kiss; 

Then a loving Wind did fall 

On its breast, and shiver with gladness: 

The morning brought love's madness 

To light, — and the lover fled. 

But the eyes that burned in his head 

Shot love through each and all. 

For the lily that bloomed by the wall 

Shone sweet in every place, — 

In the earth, and the sky above, 

And the lover saw never the face 

Of the flower that died of love. 



8o LYRICS 

Hush I Hush I Let no sorrow he spoken t 
Tho' it perish, no pity shall flout it. 
Better to die heart-broken 
Of love than to live without it ! 

THE YOUNG POET 



When I am dead and buried, then 
There will be mourning among men. 
I hear one musing on my dust : 

"How hard he fought to win his crust." 
And one, "He was too sensitive 
In this cold-wintered world to live." 
Another, weeping, "Ah, how few 
So gentle-hearted and so true." 

"I saw him only once, and yet 
I think I never shall forget 
The strange, sad look in those young eyes," 
Another says, and then with wise 
And solemn-shaking head — " No doubt 
The hot heart burned that frail frame out." 



Good friends, a discount on your grief! 

A little present help were worth 

More than a sorrow-stricken earth 

When I am but a withered leaf. 

An outstretched hand were better to me 

Than your glib graveyard sympathy. 

You need not pity and rhyme and paint me, 

You need not weep for, and sigh for, and saint me 

After you Ve starved me — driven me dead. 

Friends! do you hear? What I want is bread! 



A SONG OF EARLY AUTUMN 8 1 

A SONG OF EARLY AUTUMN 

When late in summer the streams run yellow, 
Burst the bridges and spread into bays; 

When berries are black and peaches are mellow, 
And hills are hidden by rainy haze; 

When the goldenrod is golden still, 

But the heart of the sunflower is darker and sadder; 
When the corn is in stacks on the slope of the hill, 

And slides o'er the path the striped adder; 

When butterflies flutter from clover to thicket, 
Or wave their wings on the drooping leaf; 

When the breeze comes shrill with the call of the cricket, 
Grasshoppers' rasp, and rustle of sheaf; 

When high in the field the fern-leaves wrinkle. 

And brown is the grass where the mowers have mown ; 

When low in the meadow the cow-bells tinkle, 
And small brooks crinkle o'er stock and stone. 

When heavy and hollow the robin's whistle 
And shadows are deep in the heat of noon; 

When the air is white with the down o' the thistle, 
And the sky is red with the harvest moon; 

O, then be chary, young Robert and Mary, 
No time let slip, not a moment wait ! 
If the fiddle would play it must stop its tuning. 
And they who would wed must be done with their 
mooning; 
So, let the churn rattle, see well to the cattle, 
And pile the wood by the barn-yard gate! 



82 LYRICS 

THE BUILDING OF THE CHIMNEY 

I 

My chimney is builded 

On a hill by the sea, 

At the edge of a wood 

That the sunset has gilded 

Since time was begun 

And the earth first was done: 

For mine and for me 

And for you, John Burroughs, 

My friend old and good, 

At the edge of a wood 

On a hill by the sea 

My chimney is builded. 

II 

My chimney gives forth 
All its heat to the north, 
While its right arm it reaches 
Toward the meadows and beaches, 
And its left it extends 
To its pine-tree friends. 
All its heat to the north 
My chimney gives forth. 

Ill 

My chimney is builded 

Of red and gray granite : 

Of great split boulders 

Are its thighs and its shoulders; 

Its mouth — try to span it. 

'T is a nine-foot block — 
The shelf that hangs over 



THE BUILDING OF THE CHIMNEY S^ 

The stout hearth-rock. 
Then the hnes they upswell 
Like a huge church-bell, 
Or a bellying sail 
In a stiff south gale 
When the ship rolls well, 
With a blue sky above her. 

IV 

My chimney — come view it, 
And I'll tell you, John Burroughs, 
What is built all through it : 
First the derrick's shrill creak, 
That perturbed the still air 
With a cry of despair. 
The lone traveler who past 
At the fall of the night 
If he saw not its mast 
Stood still with affright 
At a sudden strange sound — 
Hark! a woman's wild shriek? 
Or the baying of a hound? 

Then the stone-hammer's clink 
And the drill's sharp tinkle, 
And bird-songs that sprinkle 
Their notes through the wood 
(With pine odors scented). 
On the swift way to drink 
At the spring cold and good 
That bubbles 'neath the stone 
Where the red chieftain tented 
In the days that are gone. 



84 LYRICS 



Yes, 'twixt granite and mortar 
Many songs, long or shorter, 
Are imprisoned in the wall; 
And when red leaves shall fall, — 
Coming home, all in herds, 
From the air to the earth, — 
When I have my heart's desire. 
And we sit by the hearth 
In the glow of the fire. 
You and I, John of Birds, 
We shall hear as they call 
From the gray granite wall; 
You shall name one and all. 

There's the crow's caw-cawing 
From the pine-tree's hight, 
And the cat-bird's sawing. 
The hissing of the adder 
That climbed the rock ladder, 
And the song of Bob White; 
The robin's loud clatter, 
The chipmunk's chatter, 
And the mellow-voiced bell 
That the cuckoo strikes well; 
Yes, betwixt the stones and in 
There is built a merry din. 

But not all bright and gay 
Are the songs we shall hear; 
For as day turns to gray 
Comes a voice low and clear — 
Whippoorwill sounds his wail 
Over hill, over dale. 
Till the soul fills with fright. 



THE BUILDING OF THE CHIMNEY 85 

'T is the bird that was heard 
On the fields drenched with blood 
By the dark southern flood 
When they died in the night. 



But you cannot split granite 

Howsoe'er you may plan it, 

Without bringing blood; 

(There's a drop of mine there 

On that block four-square). 

Certain oaths, I'm aware, 

Sudden, hot, and not good 

(May Heaven cleanse the guilt!) 

In these stone walls are built ; — 

With the wind through the pine-wood blowing, 

The creak of tree on tree. 

Child-laughter, and the lowing 

Of the homeward-driven cattle. 

The sound of wild birds singing, 

Of steel on granite ringing, 

The memory of battle. 

And tales of thi roaring sea. 

VI 

For my chimney was builded 
By a Plymouth County sailor, 
An old North Sea whaler. 
In the warm noon spell 
'T was good to hear him tell 
Of the great September blow 
A dozen years ago : — 
How at dawn of the day 
The wind began to play, 



86 LYRICS 



Till it cut the waves flat 

Like the brim of your hat. 

There was no sea about, 

But it blew straight out 

Till the ship lurcht over; 

But 't was quick to recover, 

When, all of a stroke. 

The hurricane broke. 

Great heavens! how it roared,* 

And how the rain poured; 

The thirty-fathom chain 

Dragged out all in vain. 
"What next?" the captain cried 

To the mate by his side; 

Then Tip Ryder he replied: 
" Fetch the ax — no delay — 

Cut the mainmast away; 

If you want to save the ship 

Let the mainmast rip!" 

But another said, "Wait!" 

And they did — till too late. 

On her beam-ends she blew, 

In the sea half th% crew — 

Struggling back through the wrack, 

There to cling day and night. ^ 

Not a sail heaves in sight; 

And, the worst, one in thirst 

(Knows no better, the poor lad!) 

Drinks salt water and goes mad. 
Eighty hours blown and tost, 

Five good sailors drowned and lost. 

And the rest brought to shore; 

— Some to sail as before ; 



A RIDDLE OF LOVERS 87 

"Not Tip Ryder, if he starves 
Building chimneys, building wharves." 

VII 

. Now this was the manner 
Of the building of the chimney. 
('T is a good old-timer, 
As you, friend John, will own.) 
Old man Vail cut the stone; 
William Ryder was the builder; 
Stanford White was the planner; 
And the owner and rhymer 
Is Richard Watson Gilder. 

"A WORD SAID IN THE DARK" 

A v^ORD said in the dark 
And hands prest, for a token; 
"Now, little maiden, mark 
The word that you have spoken; 
Be not your promise broken!" 

His lips upon her cheek 
Felt tears among their kisses; 
"O, pardon I bespeak 
If for my doubting this is ! 
Now all my doubting ceases." 

A RIDDLE OF LOVERS * 

Of my fair lady's lovers there were two 
Who loved her more than all; nor she, nor they 
Guessed which of these loved better, for one way 
This had of loving, that another knew. 



88 LYRICS 

One round her neck brave arms of empire threw 
And covered her with kisses where she lay; 
The other sat apart, nor did betray 
Sweet sorrow at that sight; but rather drew 

His pleasure of his lady through the soul 
And sense of this one. So there truly ran 
Two separate loves through one embrace; the whole 

This lady had of both, when one began 

To clasp her close, and win her dear lips' goal. 
Now read my lovers' riddle if you can. 

THE DARK ROOM 

(a parable) 



A MAroEN sought her love in a dark room, — 
So early had she yearned from yearning sleep, 
So hard it was from her true love to keep, — 
And^ blind she went through that all-silent gloom, 

Like one who wanders weeping in a tomb. 
Heavy her heart, but her light fingers leap 
With restless grasp and question in that deep 
Unanswering void. Now when a hand did loom 

At last, how swift her warm impassioned face 
Prest 'gainst the black and solemn-yielding air, 
As near more near she groped to that bright place, 

And seized the hand, and drowned it with her hair, 
And bent her body to his fierce embrace, 
And knew what joy was in the darkness there. 

II 

Great God ! the arms wherein that maiden fell 
Were not her lover's; I am her lover — I, 



WOODS THAT BRING THE SUNSET NEAR 89 

Who sat here in the shadows silently, 
Thinking — at last the longed-for miracle ! 

Thinking to me she moved, and all was well. 
She saw me not, yet dimly could descry 
That beautiful hand of his, and with a sigh 
Sank on his fair and treacherous breast. The spell 

Of the Evil One was on me. All in vain 
I strove to speak — my parched lips were dumb. 
See ! see ! the wan and whitening window-pane ! 

See, in the night, the awful morning bloom ! 
Too late she will know all! Heaven! send thy rain 
Of death, nor let the sun of wakening come! 

BEFORE SUNRISE 

The winds of morning move and sing; 
The western stars are lingering; 
In the pale east one planet still 
Shines large above King PhiHp's hill; — 

And near, in gold against the blue, 
The old moon, in its arms the new. 
Lo, the deep waters of the bay 
Stir with the breath of hurrying day. 

Wake, loved one, wake and look with me 

Across the narrow, dawn-lit sea! 

Such beauty is not wholly mine 

Till thou, dear heart, hast made it thine. 

"THE WOODS THAT BRING THE SUNSET 
NEAR" 

The wind from out the west is blowing; 
The homeward-wandering cows are lowing; 



QO LYRICS 

Dark grow the pine-woods, dark and drear 
The woods that bring the sunset near. 

When o'er wide seas the sun decHnes, 
Far off its fading glory shines, — 
Far off, subUme, and full of fear, — 
The pine-woods bring the sunset near. 

This house that looks to east, to west, 
This, dear one, is our home, our rest; 
Yonder the stormy sea, and here 
The woods that bring the sunset near. 

SUNSET FROM THE TRAIN 



But then the sunset smiled, 

Smiled once and turned toward dark, 

Above the distant, wavering line of trees that filed 

Along the horizon's edge; 

Like hooded monks that hark 

Through evening air 

The call to prayer ; — 

Smiled once, and faded slow, slow, slow away; 

When, like a changing dream, the long cloud-wedge, 

Brown-gray, 

Grew saffron underneath and, ere I knew, 

The interspace, green-blue — 

The whole, illimitable, western, skyey shore, 

The tender, human, silent sunset smiled once more. 

II 

Thee, absent loved one, did I think on now. 
Wondering if thy deep brow 



AFTER SORROW'S NIGHT 9 1 

In dreams of me were lifted to the skies, 
Where, by our far sea-home, the sunhght dies; 
If thou didst stand, alone, 
Watching the day pass slowly, slow, as here, 
But closer and more dear, 
Beyond the meadow and the long, familiar line 
Of blackening pine; 

When lo! that second smile; — dear heart, it was thine 
own. 

"AFTER SORROW'S NIGHT" 

After sorrow's night 
Dawned the morning bright. 
In dewy woods I heard 
A golden-throated bird, 

And "Love, love, love," it sang, 
And "Love, love, love." 

Evening shadows fell 

In our happy dell. 

From glimmering woods I heard 

A golden-throated bird, 

And "Love, love, love," it sang, 
And "Love, love, love.'* 

O, the summer night 
Starry was and bright. 
In the dark woods I heard 
A golden-throated bird, 

And "Love, love, love," it sang, 
And "Love, love, love." 



92 LYRICS 

A NOVEMBER CHILD 

November winds, blow mild 

On this new-born child! 

Spirit of the autumn wood, 

Make her gentle, make her good! 

Still attend her, 

And befriend her. 

Fill her days with warmth and color; 

Keep her safe from winter's dolor. 

On thy bosom 

Hide this blossom 

Safe from summer's rain and thunder! 

When those eyes of light and wonder 

Tire at last of earthly places — 

Full of years and full of graces, 

Then, O, then 

Take her back to heaven again! 

AT NIGHT 

The sky is dark, and dark the bay below 
Save where the midnight city's pallid glow 
Lies like a lily white 
On the black pool of night. 

O rushing steamer, hurry on thy way 
Across the swirling Kills and gusty bay, 
To where the eddying tide 
Strikes hard the city's side! 

For there, between the river and the sea, 
Beneath that glow, — the lily's heart to me,- 
A sleeping mother mild. 
And by her breast a child! 



NINE YEARS 93 

CRADLE SONG 

In the embers shining bright 
A garden grows for thy deHght, 
With roses yellow, red, and white. 

But, O my child, beware, beware! 
Touch not the blossoms blowing there, 
For every rose a thorn doth bear. 

"NINE YEARS" 

Nine years to heaven had flown, 

And June came, with June's token — 

The wild rose that had known 
A maiden's silence broken. 

'T was thus the lover spoke, 
And thus she leaned and listened 

(Below, the billows broke. 
The blue sea shook and glistened) : — 

" We have been happy, Love, 

Through bright and stormy weather, 
Happy all hope above. 

For we have been together. 

"To meet, to love, to wed, — 

Joy without stint or measure, — 
This was our lot," he said, 

"To find untouched our treasure; 

"But had some blindfold fate 
Bound each unto another — 
To turn from Heaven's gate. 

Each heart-throb hide and smother! 



94 LYRICS 

" O dear and faithful heart, 
If thus had we been fated; 
To meet, to know, to part — 
Too early, falsely, mated! 

" Were this our bitter plight, 

Ah, could we have dissembled?" 
Her cheek turned pale with fright; 
She hid her face, and trembled. 

"BACK FROM THE DARKNESS TO THE 
LIGHT AGAIN" 

"Back from the darkness to the light again!" — 
Not from the darkness. Love, for hadst thou lain 
Within the shadowy portal of the tomb, 
Thy light had warmed the darkness into bloom. 



PART II 

FATE 

I FLUNG a stone into a grassy field ; — 
How many tiny creatures there may yield 
(I thought) their petty lives through that rude shock! 
To me a pebble, 't is to them a rock — 
Gigantic, cruel, fraught with sudden death. 
Perhaps it crusht an ant, perhaps its breath 
Alone tore down a white and glittering palace, 
And the small spider damns the giant's malice 
Who wrought the wreck — blasted his pretty art ! 

Who knows what day some saunterer, light of heart. 
An idle wanderer through the fields of space, 
Large-limbed, big-brained, to whom our puny race 



FATE 95 

Seems small as insects, — one whose footstep jars 
On some vast world-orb islanded by stars, — 
May fling a stone and crush our earth to bits, 
And all that men have builded by their wits? 

"Ah, what a loss!" you say; "our bodies go, 
But not our temples, statues, and the glow 
Of glorious canvases; and not the pages 
Our poets have illumed through myriad ages. 
What boots the insect's loss? Another day 
Will see the selfsame ant-hill and the play 
Of light on dainty web the same. But blot 
All human art from this terrestrial plot, 
Something indeed would pass that nevermore 
Would hght the universe as once before!" 

The spider's work is not original, — 
You hold, — but what of ours? I fear that all 
We do is just the same thing over and over. 
Take Life: you have the woman and her lover; 
'T is old as Eden ; naught is new in that ! 
Take Building, and you reach ere long the flat 
Nile desert sands, by way of France, Rome, Greece. 
And there is poetry — our bards increase 
In numbers, not in sweetness, not in force. 
Since he, sublimest poet of this globe. 
Forgotten now, poured forth the chant of Job — 
Where Man with the Eternal holds discourse. 
No, no! The forms may change, but even they 
Come round again. Could we but truly scan it. 
We'd find in the heavens some little, busy planet, 
Whence all we are was borrowed. If to-day 
The imagined giant flung his ponderous stone. 
And we and all our far-stretched schemes were done, 
His were a scant remorse and short-lived trouble, 
Like mine for those small creatures in the stubble. 



96 LYRICS 

"WE MET UPON THE CROWDED WAY'* 

I 

We met upon the crowded way; 

We spoke and past. How bright the day 

Turned from that moment, for a light 

Did shine from her to make it bright ! 

And then I asked: Can such as she 

From life be blotted utterly? 

The thoughts from those clear eyes that dawn — 

Down to the ground can they be drawn? 

II 

Among the mighty who can find 

One that hath a perfect mind? 

Angry, jealous, curst by feuds, 

They own the sway of fatal moods; 

But thou dost perfect seem to me 

In thy divine simplicity. 

Tho' from the heavens the stars be wrenched, 

Thy light, dear maid, shall not be quenched. 

Gentle, and true, and pure, and free — 

The gods will not abandon thee ! 

THE WHITE AND THE RED ROSE 

I 

In Heaven's happy bowers 
There blossom two flowers. 
One with fiery glow 
And one as white as snow; 
While lo! before them stands, 
With pale and trembling hands, 
A spirit who must choose 
One, and one refuse. 



THE WHITE AND THE RED ROSE 97 

n 

O, tell me of these flowers 
That bloom in heavenly bowers, 
One with fiery glow, 
And one as white as snow ! 
And tell me who is this 
In Heaven's holy bliss 
Who trembles and who cries 
Like a mortal soul that dies ! 

Ill 

These blossoms two, 
Wet with heavenly dew — 
The Gentle Heart is one, 
And one is Beauty's own; 
And the spirit here that stands. 
With pale and trembling hands. 
Before to-morrow's morn 
Will be a child new-born, 
Will be a mortal maiden 
With earthly sorrows laden; 
But of these shining flowers 
That bloom in heavenly bowers, 
To-day she still may choose 
One, and one refuse. 

IV 

Will she pluck the crimson flower 
And win Beauty's dower? 
Will she choose the better part 
And gain the Gentle Heart? 
Awhile she weeping waits 
Within those pearly gates; 
Alas! the mortal maiden 



98 LYRICS 



With earthly sorrow laden; 
Her tears afresh they start — 
She has chosen the Gentle Heart. 



And now the spirit goes, 
In her breast the snow-white rose. 
When hark ! a voice that calls 
Within the garden walls: 
"Thou didst choose the better part, 
Thou hast won the Gentle Heart — 
Lo, now to thee is given 
The red rose of Heaven." 

A WOMAN'S THOUGHT 

I AM a woman — therefore I may not 

Call to him, cry to him, 

Fly to him, 

Bid him delay not ! 

Then when he comes to me, I must sit quiet; 

Still as a stone — 

All silent and cold. 

If my heart riot — 

Crush and defy it! 

Should I grow bold. 

Say one dear thing to him. 

All my life fling to him, 

Cling to him — 

What to atone 

Is enough for my sinning! 

This were the cost to me. 

This were my winning — 

That he were lost to me. 



THE RIVER INN 99 

Not as a lover 
At last if he part from me, 
Tearing my heart from me, 
Hurt beyond cure — 
Calm and demure 
Then must I hold me, 
In myself fold me. 
Lest he discover; 
Showing no sign to him 
• By look of mine to him 
What he has been to me — 
How my heart turns to him, 
Follows him, yearns to him, 
Prays him to love me. 

Pity me, lean to me, 
Thou God above me! 

THE RIVER INN 

The night was black and drear 

Of the last day of the year. 

Two guests to the river inn 

Came, from the wide world's bound — 

One with clangor and din. 

The other without a sound. 

"Now hurry, servants and host! 
Get the best that your cellars boast. 
White be the sheets and fine. 
And the fire on the hearthstone bright; 
Pile the wood, and spare not the wine, 
And call him at morning-light." 



lOO LYRICS 

"But where is the silent guest? 
In what chamber shall she rest? 
In this! Should she not go higher? 
'T is damp, and the fire is gone." 

" You need not kindle the fire, 
You need not call her at dawn." 

Next morn he sallied forth 
On his journey to the North. 
O, bright the sunlight shone 
Through boughs that the breezes stir; 
But for her was lifted a stone 
Under the churchyard fir. 

THE HOMESTEAD 



Here stays the house, here stay the selfsame places, 

Here the white lilacs and the buttonwoods; 

Here the dark pine-groves, there the river-floods. 

And there the threading brook that interlaces 

Green meadow-bank with meadow-bank the same. 

The melancholy nightly chorus came 

Long, long ago from the same pool, and yonder 

Stark poplars lift in the same twilight air 

Their ancient lonelinesses; nearer, fonder, 

The black-heart cherry-tree's gaunt branches bare 

Rasp on the same old window where I ponder. 



And we, the only living, only pass; 
We come and go, whither and whence we know not. 
From birth to bound the same house keeps, alas! 
New lives as gently as the old; there show not 



AT FOUR SCORE lOI 

Among the haunts that each had thought his own 

The looks that partings bring to human faces. 

The black-heart there, that heard my earliest moan, 

And yet shall hear my last, like all these places 

I love so well, unloving lives from child 

To child; from morning joy to evening sorrow — 

Untouched by joy, by anguish undefiled; 

All one the generations gone, and new; 

All one dark yesterday and bright to-morrow; 

To the old tree's insensate sympathy 

All one the morning and the evening dew — 

My far, forgotten ancestor and I. 

AT FOUR SCORE 

This is the house she was born in, full four-score years 
ago. 

And here she is living still, bowed and ailing, but clinging 

Still to this wonted life — like an ancient and blasted oak- 
tree. 

Whose dying roots yet clasp the earth with an iron hold. 

This is the house she was born in, and yonder across the 

bay 
Is the home her lover builded, for her and for him and 

their children; 
Daily she watched it grow, from dawn to the evening 

twilight. 
As it rose on the orchard hill, 'mid the springtime showers 

and bloom. 

There is the village church, its steeple over the trees 
Rises and shows the clock she has watched since the day 
it was started — 



I02 LYRICS 

O, many a year ago, how many she cannot remember. 
Now solemnly over the water rings out the evening hour. 

And there in that very church, — tho', alas, how bediz- 
ened, and changed! 

They've painted it up, she says, in their queer, new, 
modern fashion, — 

There on a morning in June, she gave her hand to her 
husband ; 

Her heart it was his (she told him) long years and years 
before. 

Now here she sits at the window, gazing out on steeple 

and hill; 
All but the houses are gone, — the church, and the trees, 

and the houses; — 
All, all have gone long since, parents, and husband, and 

children ; 
And herself — she thinks, at times, she too has vanished 

and gone. 

No, it cannot be she who stood in the church that morn- 
ing in June, 

Nor she who felt at her breast the lips of a child in the 
darkness ; 

But hark in the gathering dusk comes a low, quick moan 
of anguish — 

Ah, it is she indeed, who has lived, who has loved, and 
lost. 

For she thinks of a wintry night, when her last was taken 

away. 
Forty years this very month, the last, the fairest, the 

dearest ; 



JOHN CARMAN 103 

All gone — ah, yes, it is she who has loved, who has 

lost, and suffered. 
She and none other it is, left alone in her sorrow and pain. 

Still with its sapless roots, that stay tho' the branches 

have dropt — 
Have withered, and fallen, and gone, their strength and 

their glory forgotten; 
Still with the life that remains, silent, and faithful, and 

stedfast, 
Through sunshine and bending storm clings the oak to 

its mother-earth. 

JOHN CARMAN 
I 

John Carman of. Carmeltown 
Worked hard through the livelong day; 

He drove his awl and he snapt his thread 
And he had but little to say. 

He had but little to say 

Except to a neighbor's child; 
Three summers old she was, and her eyes 

Had a look that was deep and wild. 

Her hair was heavy and brown 

Like clouds in a starry night. 
She came and sat by the cobbler's bench 

And his soul was filled with delight. 

No kith nor kin had he 

And he never went gadding about; 

A strange, shy man, the people said; 
They could not make him out. 



I04 LYRICS 

And some of them shook their heads 
And would never tell what they'd heard. 

But he drove his awl and snapt his thread — 
And he always kept his word; 

And the little child that knew him 

Better than all the rest, 
She threw her arms around his neck 

And went to sleep on his breast. 

One day in that dreadful summer 
When children died by the score, 

John Carman glanced from his work and saw 
Her mother there at the door. 

He knew by the look on her face — 
And his own turned deathly white; 

He rose from his bench and followed her out 
And watched by the child that night. 

He tended her day and night; 

He watched by her night and day. 
He saw the cruel pain in her eyes; 

He saw her lips turn gray. 

II 

The day that the child was buried 
John Carman went back to his last, 

And the neighbors said that for weeks and weeks 
Not a word his clencht lips past. 

"He takes it hard," they gossiped, 
"Poor man, he's lacking in wit"; 

"I'll drop in to-day," said Deacon Gray, 
" And comfort him up a bit." 



JOHN CARMAN 105 

So Deacon Gray dropt in 

With a kind and neighborly air, 
And before he left he knelt on the floor 

And wrestled with God in prayer. 

And he said ; " O Lord, Thou hast stricken 

This soul in its babyhood; 
In Thy own way, we beseech and pray, 

Bring forth from evil good." 

Ill 

That night the fire-bells rang 

And the flames shot up to the sky, 

And into the street as pale as a sheet 
The town-folk flock and cry. 

The bells ring loud and long, 
The flames leap high and higher, 

The rattling engines come too late — 
The old First Church is on fire ! 

And lo and behold in the crimson glare 

They see John Carman stand — ■ 
A look of mirth on his iron lips 

And a blazing torch in his hand. 

"You say it was He who killed her" 

(His voice had a fearful sound) : 
"I'd have you know, who love Him so, 

I 've burned His house to the ground." 



John Carman died in prison. 
In the madman's cell, they say; 

And from his crime, that I've told in rhyme, 
Heaven cleanse his soul, I pray. 



Io6 LYRICS 

DRINKING SONG 

Thou who lov'st and art forsaken, 
Didst believe and wert mistaken, 
From thy dream thou wilt not waken 

When Death thee shall call. 
Like are infidel, believer. 
The deceived, and the deceiver, 

When the grave hides all. 

What if thou be saint or sinner, 
Crooked graybeard, straight beginner, — 
Empty paunch, or jolly dinner, — 

When Death thee shall call. 
All alike are rich and richer. 
King with crown, and cross-legged stitcher, 

When the grave hides all. 

Hope not thou to live hereafter 
In men's memories and laughter, 
When, 'twixt hearth and ringing rafter, 

Death thee shall call. 
For we both shall be forgotten, 
Friend, when thou and I are rotten 

And the grave hides all. 

THE VOYAGER 
I 

"Friend, why goest thou forth 
When ice-hills drift from the north 
And crush together?" 

" The Voice that me doth call 
Heeds not the ice-hill's fall. 

Nor wind, nor weather." 



A LAMENT 107 

n 

" But, friend, the night is black ; 
Behold the driving rack 

And wild seas under!" 

"My straight and narrow bark 
Fears not the threatening dark, 
Nor storm, nor thunder." 

in 
"But O, thy children dear! 
Thy wife, — she is not here, — 
I haste to bring her!" 

"No, no, it is too late! 
Hush, hush! I may not wait, 
Nor weep, nor linger." 

IV 

" Hark ! Who is he that knocks 
With slow and dreadful shocks 
The walls to sever?" 

"It is my Master's call, 
I go, whate'er befall; 

Farewell forever." 

A LAMENT 

FOR THE DEAD OF THE JEANNETTE BROUGHT 

HOME ON THE FRISIA 

I 

O GATES of ice ! long have ye held our loved ones. 

Ye Cruel ! how could ye keep from us them for whom 
our hearts yearned — our dear ones, our fathers, our 
children, our brothers, our lovers? 



Io8 LYRICS 

Cold and Sleet, Darkness and Ice ! hard have ye held 
them; ye would not let them go. 

Their hands ye have bound fast; their feet ye have 
detained; and well have ye laid hold upon the hearts of 
our loved ones. 

O silent Arctic Night ! thou hast wooed them from us. 

O Secret of the white and unknown world! too strong 
hast thou been for us; we were as nothing to thee; thou 
hast drawn them from us; thou wouldst not let them go. 

The long day past; thou wouldst not let them go. 

The long, long night came and went ; thou wouldst not 
let them go. 

O thou insatiate ! What to thee are youth, and life, and 
hope, and love? 

For thou art Death, not Life; thou art Despair, not 
Hope. 

Naught to thee the rush of youthful blood; naught to 
thee the beauty and strength of our loved ones. 

The breath of their bodies was not sweet to thee ; they 
loved thee, and thou lovedst not them. 

They followed thee, thou didst not look upon them; 
but still, O thou inviolate! still did they follow thee. 

Thee did they follow through storm, through perils of 
the ice, and of the unknown darkness. 

The sharp spears of the frost they feared not; the ter- 
rors of death they feared not. For thee, for thee, for thee, 
not for us ; only that they might look upon thy face I 

All these they endured for thee; the thought of us 
whom yet they loved, this also they endured for thee. 

For thou art beautiful, beyond the beauty of woman. 
In thy hair are the stars of night. Thou wrappest about 
thee garments of fire that burn not, and are never quenched; 

When thou movest they are moved ; when thou breathest 
they tremble. 



A LAMENT 109 

Yea, awful art thou in thy beauty; with white fingers 
beckoning in mists and shadows of the frozen sea; draw- 
ing to thee the hearts of heroes. 



Long, long have they tarried in thy gates, O North ! 

But now thou hast given them up. Lo, they come to us 
once more — our beloved, our only ones ! 

O dearest, why have ye stayed so long? 

With ye, night and day have come and gone, but with 
us there was night only. 

But no, we will not reproach ye, hearts of our hearts, 
dearest and best; our fathers, our children, our brothers, 
our lovers! 

Come back to us! Behold our arms are open for you; 
ye are ours ; ye have returned unto us ; ye shall never go 
hence again. 

But why are ye silent, why do ye not stir, why do ye not 
speak to us, O beloved ones? 

White are your cheeks like snow ; your eyes they do not 
look upon us. 

So long ye have been gone, and is this your joy to see us 
once more? 

Lo! do we not welcome ye? Are not our souls glad? 
Do not our tears, long kept, fall upon your faces? 

Or do ye but sleep well, after those hard and weary 
labors? O, now awaken, for ye shall take rest and plea- 
sure; here are your homes and kindred! 

Listen, beloved : here is your sister, here is your brother, 
here is your lover! 

in 

They will not hearken to our voices. 
They are still; their eyes look not upon us. 



no LYRICS 

O insatiate ! O Secret of the white and unknown world, 
cruel indeed thou art! 

Thou hast sent back to us our best beloved; their 
bodies thou hast rendered up, but their spirits thou hast 
taken away from us forever. 

In life thou didst hold them from us — and in death, 
in death they are thine. 

New York, February 20, 1884. 

ILL TIDINGS 

(the studio concert) 

In the long studio from whose towering walls 
Greek Phidias beams, and Angelo appalls. 
Eager the listening, downcast faces throng 
While violins their piercing tones prolong. 
At times I know not if I see, or hear. 
Yon statue's smile, or some not sorrowing tear 
Down-falling on the surface of the stream 
That music pours across my waking dream. 
Ah, is it then a dream that while repeat 
Those chords, like strokes of silver-shod light feet, 
And the great Master's music marches on — 
I hear the horses of the Parthenon? 

But all to-day seems vague, unreal, far. 
With fear and discord in the dearest strain, 
For 'neath yon slowly-sinking western star 
One that I love lies on her bed of pain. 

A NEW WORLD 

"I KNOW," he said, 
" The thunder and the lightning have past by 
And all the earth is black, and burned, and dead; 



CONGRESS III 

But, friend, the grass will grow again, the flowers 
Again will bloom, the summer birds will sing. 
And the all-healing sun will shine once more." 

"Blind prophecy," she answered in her woe. 
Yet still, as time wore on, the prophet's words 
Came true, — but not all true. (So shall it be 
With all who here may suffer mortal loss.) 
Ere long the grass, the flowers, the birds, the sun 
Once more made bright the bleak and desolate earth; 
They came once more, those joys of other days; 
She felt them, moved among them, and was glad. 

Glad — glad! O mocking word! They came once more, 
But not the same to her. FamiKar they 
As a remembered dream, and beautiful — 
But changed, all changed, the whole world changed for- 
ever. 



PART III 

CONGRESS: 1878 

'T WAS in the year when mutterings, loud and deep, 
Were heard in all the dark, distracted land; 
And grave men questioned : " Can the State withstand 
The shock and strain to come? O, will she keep 

Firm her four walls, should the wild creature leap 
To ruin and ravish? Will her pillars planned 
By the great dead, tremble to either hand? 
The dead ! would heaven they might awake from sleep ! " 

Haply (I thought) our Congress still may hold 
One voice of power — when lo ! upon the blast 
A sound like jackals ravening to and fro. 

Great God ! And has it come to this at last ? 
Such noise, such shame, where once, not long ago, 
The pure and wise their living thoughts outroUed. 



112 LYRICS 

THE CITY 

Come, Spirit of Song! true, faithful friend of mine! 
Oft hast thou served me in life's warfare rough; 
No knight of old found lance more keen or tough 
At tourney or in dreadful battle-Hne: 

Come, tho' they own thee not, the Muses Nine; 
Strike one more blow, — the past is not enough, — 
Not now for Love's sake, nor in Fate's rebuff, 
Nor for Provence and all its golden wine: 

But be one iron scorn for this huge town 

Where love of God has turned to lust of gold, 
And civic pride in private greed grows cold; 

Where speculation stains the judge's gown. 

And where, in new-born broods, foul beasts of prey 
Ravage the treasure-house by night and day. 

REFORM 

I 

O, HOW shall I help to right the world that is going wrong ! 
And what can I do to hurry the promised time of peace ! 
The day of work is short and the night of sleep is long; 
And whether to pray or preach, or whether to sing a 

song, 
To plow in my neighbor's field, or to seek the golden fleece. 
Or to sit with my hands in my lap, and wish that ill 

would cease! 

II 

I think, sometimes, it were best just to let the Lord alone; 
I am sure some people forget He was here before they 

came; 
Tho' they say it is all for His glory, 't is a good deal 

more for their own, 



113 

That they peddle their petty schemes, and blate and 

babble and groan. 
I sometimes think it were best, and a man were little to 

blame, 
Should he pass on his silent way nor mix with the noisy 

shame. 

AT GARFIELD'S GRAVE 

(SEPTEMBER, 1881) 

All summer long the people knelt 
And listened at the sick man's door: 

Each pang which that pale sufferer felt 

Throbbed through the land from shore to shore; 

And as the all-dreaded hour drew nigh, 
What breathless watching, night and day! 

What tears, what prayers ! Great God on high ! 
Have we forgotten how to pray! 

O broken-hearted, widowed one. 

Forgive us if we press too near! 
Dead is our husband, father, son, 

For we are all one household here. 

And not alone here by the sea, 

And not in his own land alone, 
Are tears of anguish shed with thee — 

In this one loss the world is one. 

EPITAPH 

A man not perfect, but of heart 

So high, of such heroic rage. 
That even his hopes became a part 

Of earth's eternal heritage. 



114 LYRICS 

MEMORIAL DAY 

I 

She saw the bayonets flashing in the sun, 
The flags that proudly waved; she heard the bugles call- 
ing; 
She saw the tattered banners falling 
About the broken staffs, as one by one 
The remnant of the mighty army past; 
And at the last 
Flowers for the graves of those whose fight was done. 

II 

She heard the tramping of ten thousand feet 
As the long line swept round the crowded square; 
She heard the incessant hum 
That filled the warm and blossom-scented air — 
The shrilling fife, the roll and throb of drum, 
The happy laugh, the cheer. O, glorious and meet 
To honor thus the dead. 
Who chose the better part. 
Who for their country bled! 

— The dead ! Great God ! she stood there in the street, 
Living, yet dead in soul and mind and heart — 
While far away 

His grave was deckt with flowers by strangers' hands 
to-day. 

THE NORTH TO THE SOUTH 

Land of the South, — whose stricken heart and brow 
Bring grief to eyes that erewhile only knew 

For their own loss to sorrow, — spurn not thou 
These tribute tears; ah, we have suffered too. * 

New Orleans, 1885. 



THE BURIAL OF GRANT II5 

THE BURIAL OF GRANT 

(new YORK, AUGUST 8, 1885) 
I 

Ye living soldiers of the mighty war, 

Once more from roaring cannon and the drums 
And bugles blown at morn, the summons comes; 
Forget the halting limb, each wound and scar; 
Once more your Captain calls to you; 
Come to his last review ! 

n 

And come ye, too, bright spirits of the dead, 

Ye who flamed heavenward from the embattled field; 
And ye whose harder fate it was to yield 
Life from the loathful prison or anguished bed; 
Dear ghosts! come join your comrades here 
Beside this sacred bier. 

Ill 

Nor be ye absent, ye immortal band, — 
Warriors of ages past, and our own age, — 
Who drew the sword for right, and not in rage, 
Made war that peace might Hve in all the land, 
Nor ever struck one vengeful blow, 
But helped the fallen foe. 

IV 

And fail not ye, — but, ah, ye falter not 
To join his army of the dead and living, — 
Ye who once felt his might, and his forgiving; 
Brothers, whom more in love than hate he smote. 
For all his countrymen make room 
By our great hero's tomb ! 



Il6 LYRICS 

V 
Come, soldiers — not to battle as of yore, 
But come to weep; ay, shed your noblest tears; 
For lo, the stubborn chief, who knew not fears. 
Lies cold at last, ye shall not see him more. 
How long grim Death he fought and well. 
That poor, lean frame doth tell. 

VI 

All's over now; here let our Captain rest. 
Silent amid the blare of praise and blame; 
Here let him rest, while never rests his fame; 
Here in the city's heart he loved the best, 
And where our sons his tomb may see 
To make them brave as he ; — 

VII 

As brave as he — he on whose iron arm 

Our Greatest leaned, our gentlest' and most wise; 
Leaned when all other help seemed mocking lies. 
While this one soldier checked the tide of harm, 
And they together saved the state. 
And made it free and great. 

THE DEAD COMRADE 

At the burial of Grant, a bugler stood forth and sounded " taps." 
I 

Come, soldiers, arouse ye! 
Another has gone; 
Let us bury our comrade. 
His battles are done. 
His sun it is set; 
He was true, he was brave, 
He feared not the grave. 
There is naught to regret. 



THE LIFE-MASK OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN II7 

II 

Bring music and banners 
And wreaths for his bier — 
No fault of the fighter 
That Death conquered here. 

Bring him home ne'er to rove, 
Bear him home to his rest, 
And over his breast 
Fold the flag of his love. 

in 

Great Captain of battles, 
We leave him with Thee! 
What was wrong, O, forgive it; 
His spirit make free. 

Sound taps, and away! 
Out lights, and to bed! 
Farewell, soldier dead ! 
Farewell — for a day. 

ON THE LIFE-MASK OF ABRAHAM 
LINCOLN 

This bronze doth keep the very form and mold 
Of our great martyr's face. Yes, this is he: 
That brow all wisdom, all benignity; 
That human, humorous mouth ; those cheeks that hold 

Like some harsh landscape all the summer's gold; 
That spirit fit for sorrow, as the sea 
For storms to beat on; the lone agony 
Those silent, patient lips too well foretold. 

Yes, this is he who ruled a world of men 
As might some prophet of the elder day — 
Brooding above the tempest and the fray 



II» LYRICS 

With deep-eyed thought and more than mortal ken. 
A power was his beyond the touch of art 
Or armed strength — his pure and mighty heart. 

THE PRESIDENT 

(written during the first administration of 
president cleveland) 

Not his to guide the ship while tempests blow, 

War's billows burst, and glorious thunders beat; 

Not his the joy to see an alien foe 

Fly down the dreadful valley of defeat; 
Not his the fame of that great soul and tried. 

Who conquered civil peace by arms and love; 

Nor his the emprize of one who lately died 

Hand-claspt with foes, who weep his tomb abovei 
But this his task, — all passionless, unsplendid, — 

To teach, in public place, a nobler creed; 

To build a wall, — alone or well befriended, — 
'Gainst the base partizan's ignoble greed. 

Or will he fail, or triumph? History lays 

A moment down her pen. A nation waits — and prays. 



PART IV 

ESSIPOFF 

I 

What is her playing like? 

I ask — while dreaming here under her music's power. 

'T is like the leaves of the dark passion-flower 

Which grows on a strong vine whose roots, O , deep they 

sink, 
Deep in the ground, that flower's pure life to drink. 



ADELE AUS DER OHE IIQ 

II 

What is her playing like ? 

'T is like a bird 

Who, singing in a wild wood, never knows 

That its lone melody is heard 

By wandering mortal, who forgets his heavy woes. 

ADELE AUS DER OHE 
(liszt) 

I 
What is her playing like? 
'T is like the wind in wintry northern valleys. 
A dream-pause ; — then it rallies 
And once more bends the pine-tops, suddenly shatters 
The ice-crags, whitely scatters 
The spray along the paths of avalanches. 
Startles the blood, and every visage blanches. 

II 

Half-sleeps the wind above a swirling pool 
That holds the trembling shadow of the trees; 
Where waves too wildly rush to freeze 
Tho' all the air is cool; 
And hear, O, hear, while musically call 
With nearer tinkling sounds, or distant roar, 
Voices of fall on fall; 

And now a swelling blast, that dies; and now — no more, 
no more. 

(chopin) 
Ah, what celestial art ! 

And can sweet thoughts become pure tone and float, 
All music, note by note. 
Into the tranced mind and quivering heart! 



I20 LYRICS 

Her hand scarce stirs the singing, wiry metal — 
Hear from the wild-rose fall each perfect petal ! 

And can we have, on earth, of heaven the whole, 
Or be to heaven upcaught, 
Hearing the soul of inexpressible thought, 
Roses of sound 

That strew melodious leaves upon the silent ground; 
And music that is music's very soul. 
Without one touch of earth, 
Too tender, even, for sorrow, and too bright for mirth ! 

MODJESKA 

There are four sisters known to mortals well. 

Whose names are Joy and Sorrow, Death and Love; 
This last it was who did my footsteps move 
To where the other deep-eyed sisters dwell. 

To-night, or ere yon painted curtain fell. 
These, one by one, before my eyes did rove 
Through the brave mimic world that Shakespeare wove. 
Lady! thy art, thy passion were the spell 

That held me, and still holds; for thou dost show, 
With those most high each in his sovereign art, — 
Shakespeare supreme, and Tuscan Angelo, — 

Great art and passion are one. Thine too the part 
To prove, that still for him the laurels grow 
Who reaches through the mind to pluck the heart. 

THE DRAMA 

(supposed to be from the polish) 

I SAT in the crowded theater. The first notes of the 
orchestra wandered in the air; then the full harmony burst 
forth; then ceased. 



THE DRAMA 121 

The conductor, secretly pleased with the loud applause, 
waited a moment, then played again; but as he struck 
upon his desk for the third time, the bell sounded, the 
just-beginning tones of the wind-instruments and the 
violins husht suddenly, and the curtain was rolled to 
the ceiling. 

Then appeared a wonderful vision, which shall not soon 
be forgotten by me. 

For know that I am one who loves all things beautiful. 
Did you find the figure of a man lying solitary upon the 
wind-fashioned hills of sand, watching the large sun rise 
from the ocean? That was I. 

It was I who, lonely, walked at evening through the 
woods of autumn, beholding the sun's level light strike 
through the unfallen red and golden foliage, — 

Whose heart trembled when he saw the fire that rapidly 
consumed the dead leaves lying upon the hillside, and 
spread a robe of black that throbbed with crimson jewels 
under the wind of the rushing flame. 

Know, also, that the august forms wrought in marble 
by the ancient sculptors have power upon me, also the ima- 
ginative works of the incomparable painters; and that the 
voices of the early poets are modern and familiar to me. 

What vision was it, then, that I beheld; what art was 
it that made my heart tremble and filled me with joy that 
was like pain? 

Was it the art of the poet ; was it of a truth poetry made 
visible in human attitudes and motions? 

Was it the art of the painter — which Raphael knew 
so well when he created those most gracious shapes that 
yet live on the walls of the Vatican? 

Or was it the severe and marvelous art of the sculp- 
tor, in which antique Phidias excelled, and which Michael 
Angelo indued with new and mighty power? 



122 LYRICS 

Or, haply, it was that enchanting myth, made real 
before our eyes — of the insensate marble warmed to life 
beneath the passionate gaze of the sculptor! 
* No, no; it was not this miracle, of which the bards 
have so often sung; nor was it the art of the poet, nor of 
the painter, nor of the musician (tho' often I thought 
of music), nor of the sculptor. It was none of these that 
moved my heart, and the hearts of all who beheld, and 
yet it was all of these. 

For it was the ancient and noble art of the drama, — 
that art which includes all other arts, — and she who was 
the mistress of it was the divine Modjeska. 

FOR AN ALBUM 
(to be read one hundred years after) 

A century's summer breezes shook 

The maple shadows on the grass 
Since she who owned this ancient book 

From the green world to heaven did pass. 

Beside a northern lake she grew, 
A wild-flower on its craggy walls; 

Her eyes were mingled gray and blue, 
Like waves where summer sunlight falls. 

Cheerful from morn to evening-close, 
No humblest work, no prayer forgot! 

Yet who of woman born but knows 
The sorrows of our mortal lot! 

And she too suffered, tho' the wound 
Was hidden from the general gaze. 

And most from those who thus had found 
An added burden for their days. 



PORTO FINO 123 

She had no special grace, nor art; 

Her riches not in banks were kept; 
Her treasure was a gentle heart; 

Her skill to comfort those who wept. 

Not without foes her days were past, 

For quick her burning scorn was fanned. 

Her friends were many — least and last, 
A poet from a distant land. 

PORTO FINO 

I KNOW a girl — she is a poet's daughter, 

And many-mooded as a poet's day. 
And changing as the Mediterranean water; 

We walked together by an emerald bay. 

So deep, so green, so promontory-hidden 
That the lost mariner might peer in vain 

Through storms, to find where he erewhile had ridden, 
Safe-sheltered from the wild and windy main. 

Down the high stairs we clambered just to rest a 
Cool moment in the church's antique shade. 

How gay the aisles and altars! 'T was the festa 
Of brave Saint George who the old dragon laid. 

How bright the little port! The red flags fluttered. 
Loud clanged the bells, and loud the children's glee; 

What tho' some distant, unseen storm-cloud muttered, 
And waves breathed big along the weedy quay. 

We climbed the hill whose rising cleaves asunder 

Green bay and blue immeasurable sea; 
We heard the breakers at its bases thunder; 

We heard the priests' harsh chant soar wild and free. 



124 LYRICS 

Then through the graveyard's straight and narrow 
portal 

Our journey led. How dark the place ! How strange 
Its steep, black mountain wall — as if the immortal 

Spirit could thus be stayed its skyward range! 

Beyond, the smoky olives clothed the mountains 
In green that grew through many a moonlit night. 

Below, down cleft and chasm leapt snowy fountains; 
Above, the sky was warm, and blue, and bright; 

When, sudden, from out a fair and smiling heaven 
Burst forth the rain, quick as a trumpet-blare; 

Yet still the Italian sun each drop did leaven, 
And turned the rain to diamonds in the air. 

So past the day in shade, and shower, and sun. 
Like thine own moods, thou sweet and changeful 
maiden ! 

Great Heaven! deal kindly with this gentle one, 
Nor let her soul too heavily be laden. 



IMPROMPTUS 

-TO F. F. C. ON THE PANSY, HER CLASS FLOWER 

This is the flower of thought; 

Take it, thou empress of a land 

Of true hearts, from a loyal subject's hand; 

And with it naught, 

O, naught beneath life's ever-brightening dome 

Of sad remembrance! May it bring 

Dreams of joy only, and of happy days 

Backward and still to come; 



IMPROMPTUS 125 

Of birds that sang last eve, and still shall sing 
In dawns of morrows only joyful lays. 

Or yet, if thou shouldst go 
Not utterly unscathed of mortal woe — 
Thy blackest hour be touched by memory's gold, 
As is this flower's leaf. Then shalt thou hold 
Ever a young heart in thee, ever as now 
A look of quenchless youth beneath thy peerless brow. 

II — ART ^ 

Following the sun, westward the march of power! 

The Rose of Might blooms in our new-world mart: 
But see, just bursting forth from bud to flower, — 

A late, slow growth, — the fairer Rose of Art. 

ni — TO A SOUTHERN GIRL 

Sweet rose that bloomed on the red field of war, 
Think not too sadly of the dreadful Past! 
Are not old foes new friends — not least, tho' last, 

One whose far home lies 'neath yon Northern star? 

IV — FOR A FAN 

Each of us answers to a call; 

Master or mistress have we all. 

I belong to lovely Anne; 

Dost thou not wish thou wert a fan? 

Thus to be treasured, thus to be prest, 

Pleasuring thus, and thus carest? 

V — TO T. B. A. 

IN ACKNOWLEDGMENT OF A BOOK OF PROSE 

Your pretty book doth please me, 
Of carks and cares doth ease me; 
But don't forget, my boy, 



126 LYRICS 



Verse is your true employ. 
And surely, Thomas Bailey, 
In all this new-world melee 
Too seldom comes the poet, 
And when he does we know it! 
Yes, no one else can do 
The work that's play to you. 
So spend your precious time in 
Your master art of rhymin'. 
Then shall you keep the praise 
Of these and future days. 



1893. 



VI — A THEME 

"Give me a theme," the little poet cried, 

" And I will do my part." 
" 'T is not a theme you need," the world replied, 

" You need a heart." 

Vn — THE CHRISTMAS TREE IN THE NURSERY 

(for f. and R.) 
With wild surprise 
Four great eyes 
In two small heads 
From neighboring beds 
Looked out — and winkt — 
And glittered and blinkt 
At a very queer sight 
In the dim dawn-light. 
As plain as can be 
A fairy tree 
Flashes and glimmers 
And shakes and shimmers. 
Red, green, and blue 



IMPROMPTUS 127 

Meet their view; 
Silver and gold 
Sharp eyes behold; 
Small moons, big stars; 
And jams in jars, 
And cakes and honey 
And thimbles and money; 
Pink dogs, blue cats, 
Little squeaking rats, 
And candles and dolls 
And crackers and polls, 
A real bird that sings, 
And tokens and favors. 
And all sorts of things 
For the little shavers. 

Four black eyes 
Grow big with surprise. 
And then grow bigger 
When a tiny little figure 
Jaunty and airy, 
A fairy! a fairy! 
From the tree-top cries: 
"Open wide! Black Eyes! 
Come, children, wake now! 
Your joys you may take now." 

Quick as you can think 
Twenty small toes 
In four pretty rows. 
Like little piggies pink. 
All kick in the air — 
And before you can wink 
The tree stands bare! 



128 LYRICS 

PART V 
MUSIC AND WORDS 



This day I heard such music that I thought : * 

Hath human speech the power thus to be wrought, 

Into such melody, — pure, sensuous sound, — 

Into such mellow, murmuring mazes caught; 

Can words (I said), when these keen tones are bound 

(Silent, except in memory of this hour) — 

Can human words alone usurp the power 

Of trembling strings that thrill to the very soul, 

And of this ecstasy bring back the whole? 

n 

Ah, no ('t was answered in my inmost heart), 
Unto itself sufficient is each art. 
And each doth utter what none other can — 
Some hidden mood of the large soul of man. 
Ah, think not thou with words well interweaved 
To wake the tones wherein the viol grieved 
With its most heavy burden ; think not thou. 
Adventurous, to push thy shallop's prow 
Into that surge of well-remembered tones. 
Striving to match each wandering wind that moans. 
Each bell that tolls, and every bugle's blowing 
With some most fitting word, some verse bestowing 
A never-shifting form on that which past 
^wift as a bird that glimmers down the blast. 

Ill 

So, still unworded, save in memory mute, 
Rest thou sweet hour of viol and of lute; 



THE poet's fame 1 29 

Of thoughts that never, never can be spoken, 
Too frail for the rough usage of men's words — 
Thoughts that shall keep their silence all unbroken 
Till music once more stirs them; — • then like birds 
That in the night-time slumber, they shall wake, 
While all the leaves of all the forest shake. 
O, hark! I hear it now, that tender strain 
Fulfilled with all of sorrow save its pain. 

THE POET'S FAME 

Many the songs of power the poet wrought 
To shake the hearts of men. Yea, he had caught 
The inarticulate and murmuring sound 
That comes at midnight from the darkened ground 
When the earth sleeps; for this he framed a word 
Of human speech, and hearts were strangely stirred 
That listened. And for him the evening dew 
Fell with a sound of music, and the blue 
Of the deep, starry sky he had the art 
To put in language that did seem a part 
Of the great scope and progeny of nature. 
In woods, or waves, or winds, there was no creature 
Mysterious to him. He was too wise 
Either to fear, or follow, or despise 
Whom men call Science — for he knew full well 
All she had told, or still might live to tell. 
Was known to him before her very birth; 
Yea, that there was no secret of the earth, 
Nor of the waters under, nor the skies, 
That had been hidden from the poet's eyes; 
By him there was no ocean unexplored, 
Nor any savage coast that had not roared 
Its music in his ears. 



130 LYRICS 

He loved the town — 
Not less he loved the ever-deepening brown 
Of summer twilights on the enchanted hills; 
And long would listen to the starts and thrills 
Of birds that sang and rustled in the trees, 
Or watch the footsteps of the wandering breeze 
And the quick, winged shadows flashing by, 
Or birds that slowly wheeled across the unclouded sky. 

All these were written on the poet's soul; 
But he knew, too, the utmost, distant goal 
Of the human mind. His fiery thought did run 
To Time's beginning, ere yon central sun 
Had warmed to life the swarming broods of men. 
In waking dreams, his many-visioned ken 
Clutcht the large, final destiny of things. 
He heard the starry music, and the wings 
Of beings unfelt by others thrilled the air 
About him. Yet the loud and angry blare 
Of tempests found an echo in his verse, 
And it was here that lovers did rehearse 
The ditties they would sing when, not too soon, 
Came the warm night ; — shadows, and stars, and moon. 

' Who heard his songs were filled with noble rage, 
And wars took fire from his prophetic page — 
Most righteous wars, wherein, 'midst blood and tears, 
The world rushed onward through a thousand years. 
And still he made the gentle sounds of peace 
Heroic; bade the nation's anger cease! 
Bitter his songs of grief for those who fell — 
And for all this the people loved him well. 

They loved him well and therefore, on a day, 
They said with one accord : " Behold how gray 



THE poet's protest 131 

Our poet's head hath grown ! Ere 't is too late 
Come, let us crown him in our Hall of State; 
Ring loud the bells, give to the winds his praise, 
And urge his fame to other lands and days!" 
So was it done, and deep his joy therein. 
But passing home at night, from out the din 
Of the loud Hall, 'the poet, unaware. 
Moved through a lonely and dim-lighted square — 
There was the smell of lilacs in the air 
And then the sudden singing of a bird. 
Startled by his slow tread. What memory stirred 
Within his brain he told not. Yet this night, — 
Lone lingering when the eastern heavens were bright, — 
He wove a song of such immortal art 
That there lives not in all the world one heart — 
One human heart unmoved by it. Long! long! 
The laurel-crown has failed, but not that song 
Born of the night and sorrow. Where he lies 
At rest beneath the ever-shifting skies. 
Age after age, from far-off lands they come, 
With tears and flowers, to seek the poet's tomb. 

THE POET'S PROTEST 

O MAN with your rule and measure. 

Your tests and analyses! 
You may take your empty pleasure, 

May kill the pine, if you please; 
You may count the rings and the seasons, 

May hold the sap to the sun, 
You may guess at the ways and the reasons 

Till your little day is done. 

But for me the golden crest 
That shakes in the wind and launches 



132 LYRICS 

Its spear toward the reddening West! 

For me the bough and the breeze, 
The sap unseen, and the ghnt 

Of hght on the dew-wet branches. 
The hiding shadows, the hint 

Of the soul of mysteries. 

You may sound the sources of Hfe, 

And prate of its aim and scope; 
You may search with your chilly knife 

Through the broken heart of hope. 
But for me the love-sweet breath, 

And the warm, white bosom heaving, 
And never a thought of death, 

And only the bliss of living. 

TO A YOUNG POET 

In the morning of the skies 
I heard a lark arise. 
On the first day of the year 
A wood-flower did appear. 

Like a violet, like a lark. 
Like the dawn that kills the dark, 
Like a dewdrop, trembhng, clinging, 
Is the poet^s first sweet singing. 

"WHEN THE TRUE POET COMES" 

"When the true poet comes, how shall we know him? 
By what clear token; manners, language, dress? 
Or will a voice from heaven speak and show him — 
Him the swift healer of the earth's distress? 



YOUTH AND AGE 1 33 

Tell us, that when the long-expected conies 

At last, with mirth and melody and singing, 
We him may greet with banners, beat of drums. 
Welcome of men and maids and joybells ringing; 
And, for this poet of ours, 
Laurels and flowers." 

Thus shall ye know him, this shall be his token — 

Manners like other men, an unstrange gear; 
His speech not musical, but harsh and broken 

Will sound at first, each line a driven spear. 
For he will sing as in the centuries olden. 

Before mankind its earliest fire forgot — 
Yet whoso listens long hears music golden. 

How shall ye know him? Ye shall know him not 
Till, ended hate and scorn, 
To the grave he's borne. 



YOUTH AND AGE 

"I LIKE your book, my boy, 
'T is full of youth and joy. 
And love that sings and dreams. 
Yet it puzzles me," he said; 

"A string of pearls it seems. 
But I cannot find the thread." 



" O friend of olden days ! 
Dear to me is your praise, 
But, many and many a year 
You must go back, I fear; 
You must journey back," I said, 

"To find that golden thread!" 



134 LYRICS 

THE SONNET 

What is a sonnet ? 'T is the pearly shell 

That murmurs of the far-off murmuring sea; 

A precious jewel carved most curiously; 

It is a little picture painted well. 
What is a sonnet ? 'T is the tear that fell 

From a great poet's hidden ecstasy; 

A two-edged sword, a star, a song — ah me ! 

Sometimes a heavy-tolling funeral bell. 
This was the flame that shook with Dante's breath; 

The solemn organ whereon Milton played, 

And the clear glass where Shakespeare's shadow falls: 
A sea this is — beware who ventureth ! 

For like a fiord the narrow floor is laid 

Mid-ocean deep sheer to the mountain walls. 

A SONNET OF DANTE 

("Tanto gentile e tanto onesta pare^^) 

So fair, so pure my lady as she doth go 
Upon her way, and others doth salute. 
That every tongue becometh trembling-mute, 
And every eye is troubled by that glow. 

Her praise she hears as on she moveth slow, 
Clothed with humility as with a suit; 
She seems a thing that came (without dispute) 
From heaven to earth a miracle to show. 

Through eyes that gaze on her benignity 
There passes to the heart a sense so sweet 
That none can understand who may not prove; 

And from her countenance there seems to move 
A gentle spirit, with all love replete, 
That to the soul comes, saying, "Sigh, O, sigh!" 



KEATS 135 

THE NEW TROUBADOURS 

(AVIGNON, 1879) 

They said that all the troubadours had flown — 
No bird to flash a wing or swell a throat ! 
But as we journeyed down the rushing Rhone 
To Avignon, what joyful note on note 

Burst forth beneath thy shadow, O Ventour! 

Whose eastward forehead takes the dawn divine ; — 
Ah, dear Provence! ah, happy troubadour, 
And that sweet, mellow, antique song of thine! 

First, Roumanille, the leader of the choir. 
Then graceful Matthieu, tender, sighing, glowing, 
Then Wyse all fancy, Aubanel all fire. 

And Mistral, mighty as the north-wind's blowing; 
And youthful Gras, and lo ! among the rest 
A mother-bird who sang above her nest. 

KEATS 

Touch not with dark regret his perfect fame, 

Sighing, "Had he but lived he had done so"; 

Or, " Were his heart not eaten out with woe 

John Keats had won a prouder, mightier name!" 
Take him for what he was and did — ■ nor blame 

Blind fate for all he suffered. Thou shouldst know 

Souls such as his escape no mortal blow — 

No agony of joy, or sorrow, or shame ! 
"Whose name was writ in water!" What large laughter 

Among the immortals when that word was brought ! 

Then when his fiery spirit rose flaming after 
High toward the topmost heaven of heavens up-caught! 

"All hail! our younger brother!" Shakespeare said, 

And Dante nodded his imperial head. 



136 LYRICS 

AN INSCRIPTION IN ROME 
(piazza di spagna) 

Something there is in Death not all unkind; 
He hath a gentler aspect, looking back; 
For flowers may bloom in the dread thunder's track, 
And even the cloud that struck with light was lined. 

Thus, when the heart is silent, speaks the mind; 
But there are moments when comes rushing, black 
And fierce upon us, the old, awful lack. 
And Death once more is cruel, senseless, blind. 

So when I saw beside a Roman portal 

" In this house died John Keats " — for tears that sprung 
I could no further read. O bard immortal! 

Not for thy fame's sake — ■ but so young, so young; 
Such beauty vanished; spilled such heavenly wine; 
All quenched that power of deathless song divine! 

DESECRATION 

The poet died last night; 

Outworn his mortal frame. 
He hath fought well the fight. 

And won a deathless name. 

Bring laurel for his bier, 

And flowers to deck the hearse. 

The tribute of a tear 
To his immortal verse. 

Husht is that piercing strain — 
Who heard, for pleasure wept. 

His were our joy and pain ; 
He sang — our sorrow slept. 



JOCOSERIA 137 

Yes, weep for him; no more 

Shall such high songs have birth; 

Gone is the harp he bore 
Forever from the earth. 

Weep, weep, and scatter flowers 

Above his precious dust; 
Child of the heavenly powers — 

Divine, and pure, and just. 

Weep, weep — for when to-night 

Shall hoot the horned owl, 
Beneath the pale moon's light 

The human ghouls will prowl. 

What creatures those will throng 

Within the sacred gloom. 
To do our poet wrong — 

To break the sealed tomb? 

Not the great world and gay 

That pities not, nor halts 
By thoughtless night or day, 

But, — O more sordid-false ! — 

His trusted friend and near. 

To whom his spirit moved; 
The brother he held dear; 

The woman that he loved. 

"JOCOSERIA" 

Men grow old before their time, 
With the journey half before them; 

In languid rhyme 
They deplore them. 



138 LYRICS 

Life up-gathers carks and cares, 
So good-by to maid and lover! 

Find three gray hairs, 
And cry, "All's over!" 

Look at Browning! How he keeps 
In the seventies still a heart 

That never sleeps — 
Still an art 

Full of youth's own grit and power, 

Thoughts we deemed to boys belonging; 

The springtime's flower — 
Love-and-longing. 

TO AN ENGLISH FRIEND 

WITH EMERSON'S " POEMS " 

Edmund, in this book you'll find 
Music from a prophet's mind. 
Even when harsh the numbers be. 
There's an inward melody; 
And when sound is one with sense, 
'T is a bird's song, sweet, intense. 
Chide me not the book is small, 
For in it Hes our all in all. 
We who in El Dorado live 
Have no better gift to give. 
When no more is silver mill. 
Golden stream, or iron hill — 
. Search the New World from pole to pole, 
Here you'll find its singing soul! 



OUR ELDER POETS 1 39 

OUR ELDER POETS 

(1878) 

He is gone! We shall not see again 
That reverend form, those silver locks; 

Silent at last the iron pen 
And words that poured like molten rocks. 

He is gone, and we who thought him cold 
Miss from our lives a generous heat, 

And know that stolid form did hold 
A fire that burned, a heart that beat. 



He is gone, but other bards remain — 
Our gray old prophet, young at heart; 

Our scholar-poet's patriot strain; 
And he of the wise and mellow art. 



And he who first to Science sought, 

But to the Merry Muses after; 
Who learned a secret never taught — 

The knowledge of men's tears and laughter, 

He also in whose music rude 

Our peopled hills and prairies speak, 

Resounding, in his modern mood, 
The tragic fury of the Greek. 

And he, too, lingers round about 

The darling city of his birth — 
The bard whose gray eyes looking out 

Find scarce one peer in all the earth. 






I40 LYRICS 

LONGFELLOW'S "BOOK OF SONNETS" 

'TwAS Sunday evening as I wandered down 
The central highway of this swarming place, 
And felt a pleasant stillness — not a trace 
Of Saturday's harsh turmoil in the town; 

Then as a gentle breeze just stirs a gown, 
Yet almost motionless, or as the face 
Of silence smiles, I heard the chimes of "Grace" 
Sound murmuring through the autumn evening's 
brown. 

To-day, again, I past along Broadway 

In the fierce tumult and mid-noise of noon. 
While 'neath my feet the solid pavement shook; 

When lo! it seemed that bells began to play 
Upon a Sabbath eve a silver tune — 
For as I walked I read the poet's book. 



"H. H. 



u 



I WOULD that in the verse she loved some word, 
Not all unfit, I to her praise might frame — 
Some word wherein the memory of her name 
Should through long years its incense still afford. 

But no, her spirit smote with its own sword; 
Herself has lit the fire whose blood-red flame 
Shall not be quenched — this is her living fame 
Who struck so well the sonnet's subtile chord. 

None who e'er knew her can believe her dead; 
Tho' should she die they deem it well might be 
Her spirit took its everlasting flight 

In summer's glory, by the sunset sea — 

That onward through the Golden Gate it fled. 
Ah, where that bright soul is cannot be night. 



THE MODERN RHYMER 141 

THE MODERN RHYMER 

I 

Now you who rhyme, and I who rhyme, 

Have not we sworn it, many a time, 

That we no more our verse would scrawl, 

For Shakespeare he had sung it all! 

And yet, whatever others see. 

The earth is fresh to you and me; 

And birds that sing, and winds that blow, 

And blooms that make the country glow, 

And lusty swains, and maidens bright. 

And clouds by day, and stars by night. 

And all the pictures in the skies 

That moved before Will Shakespeare's eyes; 

Love, hate, and scorn; frost, fire, and flower; 

On us as well as him have power. 

Go to! our spirits shall not be laid, 

Silenced and smothered by a shade. 

Avon is not the only stream 

Can make a poet sing and dream; 

Nor are those castles, queens, and kings 

The hight of sublunary things. ^^ 

II 

Beneath the false moon's pallid glare, 
By the cool fountain in the square 
(This gray-green dusty square they set 
Where two gigantic highways met) 
We hear a music rare and new. 
Sweet Shakespeare was not known to you! 
You saw the New World's sun arise; 
High up it shines in our own skies. 
You saw the ocean from the shore; 



142 LYRICS 

Through mid-seas now our ship doth roar 
A wild, new, teeming world of men 
That wakens in the poet's brain 
Thoughts, that were never thought before, 
Of hope, and longing, and despair, 
Wherein man's never-resting race 
Westward, still westward, on doth fare. 
Doth still subdue, and still aspire, 
Or turning on itself doth face 
Its own indomitable fire ; — 
O million-centuried thoughts that make 
The Past seem but a shallop's wake! 



TWO WORLDS 

AND OTHER POEMS 



TWO WORLDS 

AND OTHER POEMS 

PART I 

TWO WORLDS 

I — THE VENUS OF MILO 

Grace, majesty, and the calm bliss of life; 

No conscious war 'twixt human will and duty; 
Here breathes, forever free from pain and strife. 

The old, untroubled pagan world of beauty. 

II — MICHAEL ANGELO'S SLAVE 

Of life, of death the mystery and woe, 
Witness in this mute, carven stone the whole. 

That suffering smile were never fashioned so 
Before the world had wakened to a soul. 

PART II 

THE STAR IN THE CITY 

As down the city street 

I pass at the twilight hour, 

'Mid the noise of wheels and hoofs 

That grind on the stones, and beat ; — 

Upward, by spire and tower. 

Over the chimneys and roofs 

Climbs my glance to the skies, 



146 TWO WORLDS 

And I see, with a glad surprise, 
A mist with a core of light. 

Slowly, as grows the night, — 
As the sky turns blue from gray, — 
Slowly it beams more bright, 
And keeps with me on my way. 

Soul of the twilight star 
That leads me from afar, 
Spirit that keener glows 
As the daylight darker grows; 
That leaps the chasm of blue 
Where the cross-street thunders through, 
And follows o'er roof and spire. 
In the night-time soaring higher; 
I know thee, and only I, 
Thou comrade of the sky — 
Star of the poet's heart, 
The light and soul of his art. 

MOONLIGHT 



'T IS twelve o' the clock. 

The town is still; 
As gray as a rock 

From gable to sill 
Each cottage is standing. 

The narrow street 

(Where the tree-tops meet), 
From the woods to the landing, 
Is black with shadows; 

The roofs are white. 
And white are the meadows; 

The harbor is bright. 

Can this be night? 



I CARE NOT IF THE SKIES ARE WHITE 147 
II 

'T is twelve o' the clock. 

The town is still; 
As still as a stock 

From harbor to hill. 
The moon's broad marge 

Has no stars near, 

Far off how clear 
They shine, how large! 
Something is strange 

In the air, in the light; 
Come forth! Let us range 

In the black, in the white. 

Through the day-like night. 

Ill 

In the elm-trees all 

No flutter, no twitter; 
From the granite wall 

The small stars glitter. 
A filmy thread 

My forehead brushes; 

A meteor rushes 
From green to red. 
Naught is but the bliss 

Of this dark, of this white, 
Of these stars — of this kiss, 

O my Love and my Light 

In the day and the night. 

"I CARE NOT IF THE SKIES ARE WHITE" 

I CARE not if the skies are white. 
Nor if the fields are gold; 



148 TWO WORLDS 

I care not whether 't is black or bright, 
Or winds blow soft or cold; 

But O the dark, dark woods, 
For thee, and me — and love. 

Let all but us at last depart, 

The great world say farewell! 
This is the kingdom of the heart, 
Where only two may dwell; 

And O the dark, dark woods, 
For thee, and me — and love. 

CONTRASTS 

Thunder in the north sky, 
Sunshine in the south; 

Frowning eyes and forehead 
And a smiling mouth. 

Maiden in the morning — 
Love her? Yes, but fear her! 

In the moony shadows — 
Nearer, nearer, nearer! 

SERENADE 

(for music) 

Deep in the ocean of night 

A pearl through the darkness shines; 
Asleep in the garden of night 

A lily's head recHnes; 
Afar in the forest of night 

Dreams the nightingale; 
Clouds in the sky of night 

Make one bright star grow pale. 



INDOORS, AT NIGHT 1 49 

O thou, sweet soul of my love, 

Art my pearl, my lily-flower; 
Thou, hiding heart of my love. 

Art my bird, in thy maiden bower; 
Heart of my only love 

That shin'st in the heavens afar — 
Thou, in the night of love. 

Art my one, dear, trembling star. 

Let me draw thee to the light. 

Pearl of the shadowy sea! 
Awake, thou lily of light, 

Turn thy face divine on me! 
Arouse thee, bird of the night. 

Let thy voice to my voice reply! 
Star of thy lover's night. 

Shine forth or I die — I die ! 

LARGESS 

Sweet mouth, dark eyes, deep heart — 

All of beauty, all of glamor heaven could fashion 

With its divinest art; 
A woman's life and love, a woman's passion : 

But these, at last, to win, 

Land, or sea, or hell, or heaven might well be ravished 
At price of any sin — 

Yet freely all she on her lover lavished. 

INDOORS, AT NIGHT 

The window's white, the candle's red, 
Show evening falleth overhead; 
The candle's red, the window's black, 
And earth is close in midnight's sack; 



150 TWO WORLDS 

The candle fades, 

The midnight shades 

Turn suddenly a starry blue — 

And now to dreams, my soul, of you ! 

THE ABSENT LOVER 

The purple of the summer fields, the dark 

Of forests, and the upward mountain sweep — 

Broken by crag, and scar of avalanche; 

The trembling of the tops of million trees; 

A world of sunlight thrilled with winds of dawn; 

All these I feel, I breathe, all these I am 

When with closed eyes I bring thy presence near, 

And touch thy spirit with my spirit's love. 

"TO-NIGHT THE MUSIC DOTH A BURDEN 
BEAR" 

To-night the music doth a burden bear — 
One word that moans and murmurs; doth exhale 
Tremulously as perfume on the air 
From out a rose blood-red, or lily pale. 
The burden is thy name, dear soul of me. 
Which the rapt melodist unknowing all 
Still doth repeat through fugue and reverie; 
Thy name, to him unknown, to me doth call. 
And weeps my heart at every music-fall. 

SANCTUM SANCTORUM 

I 

I THOUGHT I knew the mountain's every mood. 
Gray, black with storms, or lit by lightening dawn; 
But once in evening twilight came a spell 



THE GIFT 151 

Upon its brow, that held me with new power; 
A look of unknown beauty, a deep mood 
Touched with a sorrow as of human kind. 

II 

I thought I knew full well my comrade's face, 
But a new face it was to me this day. 
She sat among the worshipers and heard 
The preacher's voice, yet listened not, but leaned 
Her head unto a tone whose accents fell 
On her sweet spirit only. Deep the awe 
Struck then upon me, for my friend no more 
Seemed to be near, as with forgetting gaze, 
And piteous features steeped in tenderness. 
She thought on things unspeakable — unknown 
To all the world beside. 

m 

When forth doth pass. 
In holy pilgrimage and awful quest. 
The soul of thy soul's comrade, thou must stand 
In silence by, and let it move alone 
And unattended far to the inner shrine; 
Thou canst but wait, and bow thine head, and pray; 
And well for thee if thou may'st prove so pure, — 
Ended that hour, — thy comrade thou regain'st. 
Thine as before, or even more deeply thine. 

THE GIFT 

I 

Life came to me and spoke: 
" A palace for thee I have built 
Wherein to take thy pleasure; 
I have filled it with priceless treasure; 



152 TWO WORLDS 

Seven days shalt thou dwell therein; 
Thy joy shall be keener than sin, 
Without the stain of guilt — 
Enter the door of oak!" 

II 

I entered the oaken door; 

Within, no ray of light, 

I saw no golden store. 

My heart stood still with fright; 

To curse Life was I fain; 

Then one unseen before 

Laid in my own her hand, 

And said : " Come thou and know 

This is the House of Woe; 

I am Life's sister. Pain." 

Ill 
Through many a breathless way, 
In dark, on dizzying hight, 
She led me through the day 
And into the dreadful night. 
My soul was sore distrest 
And wildly I longed for rest; 
Till a chamber met my sight, 
Far off, and hid, and still. 
With diamonds all bedight 
And every precious thing; 
Not even a god might will 
More beauty there to bring. 

IV 

Then spoke Life's sister, Pain : 
"Here thou as a king shalt reign. 
Here shalt thou take thy pleasure, 
This is the priceless treasure, 



YESTERDAY, WHEN WE WERE FRIENDS 1 53 

The chamber of thy delight 
Through endless day and night; 
Rejoice, this is the end — 
Thou hast found the heart of a friend." 

"AH, TIME, GO NOT SO SOON" 

Ah, Time, go not so soon; 

I would not thus be used, I would forego that boon; 

Turn back, swift Time, and let 

Me many a year forget; 

Let her be strange once more — an unfamiliar tune, 

An unimagined flower. 

Not known till that mute, wondrous hour 

When first we met! 

"THE YEARS ARE ANGELS" 

The years are angels that bring down from Heaven 
Gifts of the gods. What has the angel given 
Who last night vanished up the heavenly wall? 
* He gave a friend — the gods' best gift of all. 

"IN HER YOUNG EYES" 

In her young eyes the children looked and found 
Their happy comrade. Summer souls false-bound 
In age's frosty winter, — without ruth, — 
Lived once again in her their long-lost youth. 

"YESTERDAY, WHEN WE WERE FRIENDS" 

I 
Yesterday, when we were friends, 
We were scarcely friends at all; 
Now we have been friends so long. 
Now our love has grown so strong. 



154 TWO WORLDS 

II 

When to-morrow's eve shall fall 
We shall say, as night descends, 
Again shall say: Ah, yesterday 
Scarcely were we friends at all — 
Now we have been friends so long; 
Our love has grown so deep, so strong. 

A NIGHT SONG 

(for the guitar) 

The leaves are dark and large, Love, 
'T is blue at every marge. Love ; 

The stars hang in the tree, Love, 
I'll pluck them all for thee. Love; 

The crescent moon is curled, Love, 
Down at the edge of the world. Love; 

I'll run and bring it now, Love, 
To crown thy gentle brow, Love; 

For in my song. 

The summer long, 

The stars, and moon, and night. Love, 
Are but for thy delight. Love! 

LEO 
I 

Over the roofs of the houses I hear the barking of Leo — 
Leo the shaggy, the lustrous, the giant, the gentle New- 
foundland. 
Dark are his eyes as the night, and black is his hair as the 
midnight ; 



BROTHERS 1 55 

Large and slow is his tread till he sees his master returning, 
Then how he leaps in the air, with motion ponderous, 

frightening! 
Now, as I pass to my work, I hear o'er the roar of the 

city — 
Far over the roofs of the houses, I hear the barking of Leo ; 
For me he is moaning and crying, for me in measure 

sonorous 
He raises his marvelous voice, for me he is wailing and 

calling. 

n 

None can assuage his grief, tho' but for a day is the 

parting, 
Tho' morn after morn 't is the same, tho' home every 

night comes his master, 
Still will he grieve when we sever, and wild will be his 

rejoicing 
When at night his master returns and lays but a hand on 

his forehead. 
No lack will there be in the world of faith, of love, and 

devotion, 
No lack for me and for mine, while Leo alone is living — 
While over the roofs of the houses I hear the barking of 

Leo. 



PART III 

BROTHERS 

Passion is a wayward child. 

Art his brother firm and mild. 

Lonely each 

Doth fail to reach 

Hight of music, song, or speech, 



156 TWO WORLDS 

If hand in hand they sally forth, 

East or west, or south or north, 

Naught can stay them 

Nor delay them. 

Slaves not they of space or time 

In their journeyings sublime. 

LOVE, ART, AND TIME 

ON A PICTURE ENTITLED "THE PORTRAIT," 
BY WILL H. LOW 

Sweet Grecian girl who on the sunbright wall 
Tracest the outline of thy lover's shade, 
While, on the dial near, Time's hand is laid 
With silent motion — fearest thou, then, all? 

How that one day the light shall cease to fall 
On him who is thy light; how lost, dismayed, — 
By Time, and Time's pale comrade Death, be- 
trayed, — 
Thou shalt breathe on beneath the all-shadowing 
pall! 

Love, Art, and Time, these are the triple powers 
That rule the world, and shall for many a morrow — 
Love that beseecheth Art to conquer Time! 

Bright is the picture, but, O fading flowers! 

O youth that passes 1 love that bringeth sorrow ! — 
Bright is the picture; sad the poet's rhyme. 

THE DANCERS 

ON A PICTURE ENTITLED "SUMMER," BY T. W. DEWING 

Behold these maidens in a row 
Against the birches' freshening green; 
Their lines like music sway and flow; 
Thev move before the emerald screen 



EMMA LAZARUS 157 

Like broidered figures dimly seen 
On woven cloths, in moony glow — 
Gracious, and graceful, and serene. 
They hear the harp; its lovely tones 
Each maiden in each motion owns. 
As if she were a living note 
Which from that curved harp doth float. 

THE TWENTY-THIRD OF APRIL 

A LITTLE English earth and breathed air 
Made Shakespeare, the divine; so is his verse 
The broidered soil of every blossom fair; 
So doth his song all sweet bird- songs rehearse. 

But tell me, then, what wondrous stuff did fashion 
That part of him which took those wilding flights 
Among imagined worlds; whence the white passion 
That burned three centuries through the days and 
nights! 

Not heaven's four winds could make, nor the round earth, 
The soul wherefrom the soul of Hamlet flamed; 
Nor anything of merely mortal birth 

Could lighten as when Shakespeare's name is named. 
How was his body bred we know full well, 
But that high soul's engendering who may tell! 

EMMA LAZARUS 

When on thy bed of pain thou layest low, 
Daily we saw thy body fade away, 
Nor could the love wherewith we loved thee stay 
For one dear hour the flesh borne down by woe ; 

But as the mortal sank, with what white glow 
Flamed thy eternal spirit, night and day; 



158 . TWO WORLDS 

Untouched, unwasted, tho' the crumbling clay 
Lay wreckt and ruined! Ah, is it not so. 

Dear poet-comrade, who from sight hast gone; 
Is it not so that spirit hath a life 
Death may not conquer? But, O dauntless onel 

Still must we sorrow. Heavy is the strife 
And thou not with us; thou of the old race 
That with Jehovah parleyed, face to face. 

THE TWELFTH OF DECEMBER 

On this day Browning died? 
Say, rather: On the tide 
That throbs against those glorious palace walls; 
That rises — pauses — falls 

With melody and myriad-tinted gleams; 

On that enchanted tide. 
Half real, and half poured from lovely dreams, 
A soul of Beauty, — a white, rhythmic flame, — 
Past singing forth into the Eternal Beauty whence it came. 



PART IV 

SHERIDAN 

I 

Quietly, like a child 

That sinks in slumber mild. 
No pain or troubled thought his well-earned peace to mar, 
Sank into endless rest our thunderbolt of war. 

II 

Tho' his the power to smite 

Quick as the lightning's light, — 
His single arm an army, his very name a host, — 
Not his the love of blood, the warrior's cruel boast. 



SHERIDAN 159 

III 

But in the battle's flame 

How glorious he came ! — 
Even like a white-combed wave that breaks and tears the 

shore, 
While wreck lies strewn behind, and terror flies before. 

IV 

*T was he, — his voice, his might, — 

Could stay the panic-flight. 
Alone shame back the headlong, many leagued retreat, 
And turn to evening triumph morning's foul defeat. 

V 

He was our modern Mars; 

Yet firm his faith that wars 
Ere long would cease to vex the sad, ensanguined earth. 
And peace forever reign, as at Christ's holy birth. 

VI 

Blest land, in whose dark hour 

Arise to loftiest power 
No dazzlers of the sword to play the tyrant's part. 
But patriot-soldiers, true and pure and high of heart! 

VII 

Of such our chief of all; 

And he who broke the wall 
Of civil strife in twain, no more to build or mend; 
And he who hath this day made Death his faithful friend. 

VIII 

And now above his tomb 

From out the eternal gloom 
"Welcome!" his chieftain's voice sounds o'er the can- 
non's knell; 
And of the three one only stays to say "Farewell!'* 



l6o TWO WORLDS 

SHERMAN 

I 

Glory and honor and fame and everlasting laudation 
For our captains who loved not war, but fought for the life 

of the nation; 
Who knew that, in all the land, one slave meant strife, 

not peace; 
Who fought for freedom, not glory; made war that war 

might cease. 

II 

Glory and honor and fame; the beating of muffled drums; 
The wailing funeral dirge, as the flag-wrapt coffin 

comes. 
Fame and honor and glory, and joy for a noble soul; 
For a full and splendid life, and laureled rest at the goal 

III 

Glory and honor and fame; the pomp that a soldier 

prizes; 
The league-long waving line as the marching falls and 

rises ; 
Rumbling of caissons and guns; the clatter of horses' feet, 
And a million awe-struck faces far down the waiting 

street. 

IV 

But better than martial woe, and the pageant of civic sor- 
row ; 

Better than praise of to-day, or the statue we build 
to-morrow ; 

Better than honor and glory, and History's iron pen, 

Was the thought of duty done and the love of his fellow- 
men. 



PRO PATRIA l6l 

PRO PATRIA 



IN MEMORY OF A FAITHFUL CHAPLAIN 



I 

Erewhile I sang the praise of them whose lustrous names 

Flashed in war's dreadful flames; 
Who rose in glory, and in splendor, and in might 

To fame's sequesjered hight. 

n 

Honor to all, for each his honors meekly carried, 

Nor e'er the conquered harried; 
All honor, for they sought alone to serve the state — 

Not merely to be great. 

Ill 
Yes, while the glorious past our grateful memory craves, 

And while yon bright flag waves, 
Lincoln, Grant, Sherman, Sheridan, the peerless four, 

Shall live for evermore ; 

IV 

Shall shine the eternal stars of stern and loyal love, 

All other stars above; 
The imperial nation they made one, at last, and free, 

Their monument shall be. 

V 

Ah, yes! but ne'er may we forget the praise to sound 

Of the brave souls that found 
Death in the myriad ranks, 'mid blood, and groans, and 
stenches — 

Tombs in the abhorred trenches. 

1 Chaplain William Henry Gilder, of the 40th New York Volunteers, 
died at Brandy Station, Virginia, in April, 1864, of smallpox caught while 
in attendance upon the regimental hospital. 



l62 TWO WORLDS 

VI 
Comrades ! To-day a tear- wet garland I would bring — 

But one song let me sing, 
For one sole hero of my heart and desolate home; 

Come with me, Comrades, come! 

vn 
Bring your glad flowers, your flags, for this one humble 
grave; 
For, Soldiers, he was brave! 
Tho' fell not he before the cannon's thunderous breath, 
Yet noble was his death. 

VIII 

True soldier of his country and the sacred cross — 

He counted gain, not loss, 
Perils and nameless horrors of the embattled field, 

While he had help to yield. 

IX 

But not where 'mid wild cheers the awful battle broke, — 

A heU of fire and smoke, — 
He to heroic death went forth with soul elate; 

Harder his lonely fate. 

X 

There in the pest-house died he; stricken he fearless 
fell, 
Knowing that all was well; 
The high, mysterious Power whereof mankind has 
dreamed 
To him not distant seemed. 

XI 

Yet life to him was O, most dear, — home, children, 
wife, — 
But, dearer still than life. 



FAILURE AND SUCCESS 1 63 

Duty — that passion of the soul which from the sod 
Alone lifts man to God. 



XII 

So nobly past this unknown hero of the war; 

And heroes, near and far, 
Sleep now in graves like his unfamed in song or story — 

But theirs is more than glory! 

TO THE SPIRIT OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN 

(reunion at GETTYSBURG TWENTY-FIVE YEARS AFTER 
THE battle) 

Shade of our greatest, O look down to-day! 
Here the long, dread midsummer battle roared. 
And brother in brother plunged the accursed sword ; — 
Here foe meets foe once more in proud array, 

Yet not as once to harry and to slay. 
But to strike hands, and with sublime accord 
Weep tears heroic for the souls that soared 
Quick from earth's carnage to the starry way. 

Each fought for what he deemed the people's good, 
And proved his bravery by his offered life. 
And sealed his honor with his outpoured blood; 

But the Eternal did direct the strife, 
And on this sacred field one patriot host 
Now calls thee father — dear, majestic ghost ! 

FAILURE AND SUCCESS 

(g. c, 1888) 

He fails who climbs to power and place 
Up the pathway of disgrace. 
He fails not who makes truth his cause, 
Nor bends to win the crowd's applause. 



l64 TWO WORLDS 

He fails not, he who stakes his all 
Upon the right, and dares to fall ; — 
What tho' the living bless or blame, 
For him the long success of fame. 

J. R. L. 

ON HIS BIRTHDAY 

Navies nor armies can exalt the state; 

Millions of men, nor coined wealth untold; 

Down to the pit may sink a land of gold; 
But one great name can make a country great. 

NAPOLEON 

A SOUL inhuman ? No, but human all, 
If human is each passion man has known : 
Scorn, hate, and love; the lust of empire, grown 
To such a hight as did the world appall ; — • 

If the same human soul may soar and crawl 
As soared his and as crawled; if to be shown 
The utmost heaven and hell; if to atone 
For power consummate by colossal fall ; — 

If human 't is to see friend, partizan, 
Turn, dastardly, the imperial hand to tear 
That fed them; if through gnawing years to plan 

Vengeance, and space to breathe the unfettered air - 
No alien from his kind but very man 
Slow perished on that island of despair. 

THE WHITE CZAR'S PEOPLE 

PART I 

The White Czar's people cry: 

" Thou God of the heat and the cold, 
Of storm and of lightning. 



THE WHITE czar's PEOPLE 165 

Of darkness, and dawn's red brightening; 

Hold, Lord God, hold, 
Hold Thy hand lest we curse Thee and die." 

The White Czar's people pray: 

"Thou God of the South and the North, 

We are crusht, we are bleeding; 

'T is Christ, 't is Thy Son interceding; 
Forth, Lord, come forth! 

Bid the slayer no longer slay." 

The White Czar's people call 

Aloud to the skies of lead: 
"We are slaves, not freemen; 
Ourselves, our children, our women — 

Dead, we are dead, 
Tho' we breathe, we are dead men all. 

"Blame not if we misprize Thee 

Who can, but will not draw near. 
'T is Thou who hast made us — 
Not Thou, dread God, to upbraid us. 

Hear, Lord God, hear! 
Lest we whom Thou madest despise Thee." 

PART n 

Then answered the Most High God, 

Lord of the heat and the cold, 
Of storm and of lightning. 
Of darkness, and dawn's red brightening: 

"Bold, yea, too bold, 
Whom I wrought from the air and the clod! 

"Hast thou forgotten from me 
Are those ears so quick to hear 



1 66 TWO WORLDS 

The passion and anguish 

Of your sisters, your children who languish 

Near? Ah, not near — 
Far off by the uttermost sea! 

" Who gave ye your brains to plan — 
Your hearts to suffer and bleed? 
Why call ye on heaven — 
'T is the earth that to you is given ! 

Plead, ye may plead, 
But for man I work through man. 

"Who gave ye a voice to utter 

Your tale to the wind and the sea? 

One word well spoken 

And the iron gates are broken! 
From me, yea, from me 

The word that ye will not mutter. 

"I love not murder but ruth. 

Begone from my sight ye who take 
The knife of the coward — 
Even ye who by heaven were dowered! 

Wake ye, O wake, 
And strike with the sword of Truth! 

" Fear ye lest I misprize ye — 

I who fashioned not brutes, but men. 
After the lightning 
And darkness — the dawn's red brightening! 

Men 1 Be ye men ! 
Lest I who made ye despise ye!" 



CHARLESTON 167 

PART III 
(January 22, 1905) 
The great word is uttered, at last! 

White Czar! O, where hast thou fled? 
Thy children, heart-broken. 
To thee their sorrows have spoken ! 

To thee it is said — 
That Word on the wings of the blast! 

For the word is their fearful cry, 

And the word is their innocent blood. 

O, red is the chalice 

Lifted up to thy empty palace! 
Blood, crimson blood, 

On the snows where the murdered lie! 

Their shed blood is the word ! It is winning 
Its way swift from zone unto zone; 

Through the world it has thrilled 

And the heart of the nations stilled. 
Alone, thou alone! 

Art thou deaf to the voice and the meaning? 

Lo, it swells like the sound of the sea. 

Dull monarch! yet, yet, shalt thou hear it. 
For, once 'neath the sun 
By the brave it is spoken — all 's done ! 

Hear it — and fear it; 
For "Freedom" it cries, "We are free!" 

CHARLESTON 

1886 
Is this the price of beauty ! Fairest, thou, 
Of all the cities of the sunrise sea. 



1 68 TWO WORLDS 

Yet thrice art stricken. First, war harried thee; 

Then the dread circUng tempest drove its plow 
Right through thy palaces; and now, O now! 

A sound of terror, and thy children flee 

Into the night and death. O Deity! 

Thou God of war and whirlwind, whose dark brow, 
Frowning, makes tremble sea and solid land! 

These are Thy creatures who to heaven cry 

While hell roars 'neath them, and its portals ope; 
To Thee they call, — O Thou who bidst them die, 

Who hast forgotten to withhold Thy hand, — 

For thou, Destroyer, art man's only Hope! 

PART V 

HIDE NOT THY HEART 
I 

This is my creed, 
This be my deed : 
"Hide not thy heart!" 
Soon we depart; 
Mortals are all; 
A breath, then the pall; 
A flash on the dark — 
All's done — stiff and stark. 
No time for a lie; 
The truth, and then die. 
Hide not thy heart ! 



Forth with thy thought! 
Soon 't will be naught, 
And thou in thy tomb. 
Now is air, now is room. 



THE POET FROM HIS OWN SORROW 1 69 

Down with false shame; 
Reck not of fame; 
Dread not man's spite; 
Quench not thy hght. 
This be thy creed, 
This be thy deed: 
"Hide not thy heart!" 

Ill 

If God is, He made 
Sunshine and shade, 
Heaven and hell; 
This we know well. 
Dost thou believe? 
Do not deceive; 
Scorn not thy faith — 
If 't is a wraith, 
Soon it will fly. 
Thou, who must die, 
Hide not thy heart! 

IV 

This is my creed; 
This be my deed: 
Faith, or a doubt, 
I shall speak out 
And hide not my heart. 

"THE POET FROM HIS OWN SORROW" 

The poet from his own sorrow 
Poured forth a love-sad song. 

A stranger, on the morrow. 

Drew near, with a look of wrong, 



170 TWO WORLDS 

And said: "Beneath its pall 

I have hidden my heart in vain — 

To the world thou hast sung it all! 
Who told thee my secret pain?" 

"WHITE, PILLARED NECK" 

White, pillared neck; a brow to make men quake; 

A woman's perfect form; 
Like some cool marble, should that wake, 

Breathe, and be warm. 

A shape, a mind, a heart. 

Of womanhood the whole: 
Her breath, her smile, her touch, her art, 

All — save her soul. 

"GREAT NATURE IS AN ARMY GAY" 

Great nature is an army gay. 
Resistless marching on its way; 
I hear the bugles clear and sweet, 
I hear the tread of million feet. 

Across the plain I see it pour; 
It tramples down the waving grass; 
Within the echoing mountain-pass 
I hear a thousand cannon roar. 

It swarms within my garden gate; 
My deepest well it drinketh dry. 
It doth not rest; it doth not wait; 
*■ By night and day it sweepeth by; 

Ceaseless it marcheth by my door; 
It heeds me not, tho' I implore. 
I know not whence it comes, nor where 
It goes. For me it doth not care — ■ 



LIFE IS THE COST I7I 

Whether I starve, or eat, or sleep, 

Or live, or die, or sing, or weep. 

And now the banners all are bright, 

Now torn and blackened by the fight. 

Sometimes its laughter shakes the sky, 

Sometimes the groans of those who die. 

Still through the night and through the livelong day 

The infinite army marches on its remorseless way. 

"LIFE IS THE COST" 
I 

Life is the cost. 
Behold yon tower, 
That heavenward lifts 
To the cloudy drifts — 
Like a flame, like a flower! 
What lightness, what grace, 
What a dream of power! 
One last endeavor 
One stone to place — 
And it stands forever. 

II 

A slip, a fall ; 

A cry, a call; 

Turn away, all's done. 

Stands the tower in the sun 

Forever and a day. 

On the pavement below 

The crimson stain 

Will be worn away 

In the ebb and flow; ^ 

The tower will remain. 

Life is the cost. 



172 TWO WORLDS 

THE PRISONER'S THOUGHT 

I 
Is 't I for whom the law's brute penalty 
Was made; to whom the law once seemed a power 
Far off and not to be concerned withal? 
Am I indeed this rank and noisome thing 
Fit for such handling; to be pushed aside 
Into a human, foul receptacle, — 
A fetid compost of dull, festering crime — 
Even not meet for nutriment of earth, 
But only here to rot in memories 
Of my own shame, and shame of other men? 

Here let me rot, then — there's a taste one has 
For just the best of all things, even of sin. 
He's a poor devil who in deepest hell 
Knows no keen relish for the worst that is, — 
The very acme of intensest pain, — • 
Nor smacks charred lips at thoughts of some dear crime, 
The sweetest, deadliest, damnablest of all. 
Sometimes I hug that hellish happiness; 
And then a loathing falls upon my soul 
For what I was, and am, and still must be. 

II 

And this same I — there comes to me a time, 

And often comes, when all this slips away; 

Stays not one stain, nor scar, nor fatal hurt. 

Perhaps it is a sort of waking dream; 

But if I dream, I'm breathing audibly, 

I feel my pulse beat, hear the talk and tread 

Down these long corridors; see the barred blue 

Of the cell's window, hear a singing bird — 

Yes, O my God, I hear a singing bird, 

Such as I heard in childhood. Now, you think, 



THE CONDEMNED 1 73 

I dream I am a child once more. Not so; 

I am just what I am : a man in prison — 

(Damn them ! I 'm innocent of what they swore 

And proved — with cant, and well-paid perjury ; 

Tho' other crimes, they know not of, I did) — 

But suddenly my soul is pure as yours; 

My thought as clean; my spirit is as free 

As any man's, or any purest woman's. 

I think as justly, as for instance, sir, 

You think; as circumspectly, wisely, freely, 

As does my jolly keeper, or the smith 

Who enters once a day to try the bars 

That shut my body out from freedom! Not 

My soul. Why, this my soul has thoughts that strike 

Into the very hights and depths of Heaven. 

You'll think it passing strange, good friend, no doubt. 

'T is strange; but here's a further mystery: 

Think you that in some other living state 

After what we call death, — or in this life, — 

The thinking part of us we name the soul 

Can ever get away from its old self; 

Can wash the earth all off from it, that so 

It really will be, what I sometimes seem — 

As sinless as a little child at birth, 

With all a woman's love for all things pure, 

And all a grown man's strength to do the right? 

THE CONDEMNED 

Thou art not fit to die? — Why not? 
The fairest body ripes to rot. 
Thy soul? O, why not let it go 
Free from the flesh that drags it low! 
To die! Poor wretch, do not deceive 
Thyself — who art not fit to live. 



174 TWO WORLDS 

"SOW THOU SORROW" 

Sow thou sorrow and thou shalt reap it; 
Sow thou joy and thou shalt keep it, 

TEMPTATION 

Not alone in pain and gloom, 
Does the abhorred tempter come; 
Not in light alone and pleasure 
Proffers he the poisoned measure. 

When the soul doth rise 
Nearest to its native skies, 
There the exalted spirit finds 
Borne upon the heavenly winds 
Satan, in an angel's guise, 
With voice divine and innocent eyes, 

A MIDSUMMER MEDITATION 



Face once the thought: This piled up sky of cloud, 
Blue vastness, and white vastness steept in light, — 
Struck through with light, that centers in the sun, — 
This blue of waves below that meets blue sky; 
But a white, trembling shore between, that sweeps 
The circle of the bay; this green of woods, 
And keener green of new-mown, grassy fields; 
This ceaseless, leaf -like rustle of the waves; 
These shining, billowy tree-tops; songs of birds; 
Strong scent of seaweed, mixt with smell of pines; 
Face once this thought : Thy spirit that looks forth, 
That breathes the light, and life, and joy of all. 
Shall cease, but not the things that pleasure thee; 



VISIONS 175 

They shall endure for eyes like thine, but not 
For thine own eyes; for human hearts like thine, 
But not for thine own heart, all dust and dead. 

n 

Face it, O Spirit, then look up once more, 
Brave conqueror of dull mortality ! 
Look up and be a part of all thou seest. 
Ocean and earth and miracle of sky, 
All that thou seest, thou art, and without thee 
Were nothing. Thou, a god, dost recreate 
The whole; breathing thy soul in all, till all 
Is one wide world made perfect at thy touch. 
And know that thou, who darest a world create, 
Art one with the Almighty, son to sire — 
Of His eternity a quenchless spark. 

AS DOTH THE BIRD" 

As doth the bird, on outstretched pinions, dare 

The dread abysm's viewless air, 

Take thou, my soul, thy fearless flight 

Into the void and dark of death's eternal night. 

VISIONS 



Cast into the pit 
Of lonely sorrow, 
The suffering soul. 
Looking aloft. 
Sees with amaze 
In the daytime sky 
The shine of stars. 



176 TWO WORLDS 

II 

Came to him once 
In the seething town 
A form of beauty, 
Innocent brow, 
And soul of youth; 
Deep, sweet eyes, 
An angel's gaze, 
And rose-leaf lips 
That murmured low: 
"I, lost, forgotten. 
Long left, long dead, 
I am thy sin." 

Ill 

With full-toned beat 
Of the happy heart. 
In a day of peace. 
In an hour of joy. 
Once in my life 
And only once. 
Of a sudden, I saw, 
The end of all! 
— Death! 



WITH A CROSS OF IMMORTELLES 

When Christ cried: "It is done!" 
The face of a small red flower. 
Looking up to the suffering One, 

Turned pale with love and pain,' 
And never shone red again. 
In memory of that hour 



THE PASSING OF CHRIST 177 

Which holds the secret of bliss; 
And the darker secret of sorrow 
That shall come to each, to-morrow; 

Sweet friend, I send you this. 



THE PASSING OF CHRIST 

I 

O Man of light and lore ! 

Do you mean that in our day 

The Christ hath past away; 

That nothing now is divine 

In the fierce rays that shine 

Through every cranny and thought; 

That Christ as he once was taught 

Shall be the Christ no more? 

That the Hope and Savior of men 

Shall be seen no more again; 

That, miracles being done, 

Gone is the Holy One? 

And thus, you hold, this Christ 

For the past alone sufficed; 

From the throne of the hearts of the world 

The Son of God shall be hurled, 

And henceforth must be sought 

New prophets and kings of thought; 

That the tenderest, truest word 

The heart of sorrow hath heard 

Shall sound no more upon earth; 

That he who hath made of birth 

A dread and sacred rite; 

Who hath brought to the eyes of death 

A vision of heavenly light, 

Shall fade with our failing faith ; — 



178 TWO WORLDS 

He who saw in children's eyes 

Eternal paradise; 

Who made the poor man's lowly 

Labor a service holy, 

And sweat of work more sweet 

Than incense at God's feet; 

Who turned the God of Fear 

To a father, bending near; 

Who looked through shame and sin 

At the sanctity within; 

Whose memory, since he died, 

The earth hath sanctified — 

Hath been the stay and the hold 

Of millions of lives untold. 

And the world on its upward path 

Hath led from crime and wrath ; — 

You say that this Christ hath past 

And we cannot hold him fast? 

II 

Ah, no! If the Christ you mean 

Shall pass from this time, this scene, 

These hearts, these lives of ours, 

'T is but as the summer flowers 

Pass, but return again, 

To gladden a world of men. 

For he, — the only, the true, — 

In each age, in each waiting heart, 

Leaps into life anew; 

Tho' he pass, he shall not depart. 

Behold him now where he comes! 
Not the Christ of our subtile creeds. 
But the lord of our hearts, of our homes, 



THE PASSING OF CHRIST 1 79 

Of our, hopes, our prayers, our needs; 
The brother of want and blame, 
The lover of women and men, 
With a love that puts to shame 
All passions of mortal ken; — 
Yet of all of woman born 
His is the scorn of scorn; 
Before whose face do fly 
Lies, and the love of a lie; 
Who from the temple of God 
And the sacred place of laws 
Drives forth, with smiting rod, 
The herds of ravening maws. 

'T is he, as none other can, 

Makes free the spirit of man. 

And speaks, in darkest night. 

One word of awful light 

That strikes through the dreadful pain 

Of life, a reason sane — 

That word divine which brought 

The universe from naught. 

Ah, no, thou life of the heart, 
Never shalt thou depart ! 
Not till the leaven of God 
Shall lighten each human clod; 
Not till the world shall climb 
To thy hight serene, sublime, 
Shall the Christ who enters our door 
Pass to return no more. 



l8o TWO WORLDS 



CREDO 



How easily my neighbor chants his creed, 

Kneeling beside me in the House of God. 

His "I believe" he chants, and "I believe,'* 

With cheerful iteration and consent — 

Watching meantime the white, slow sunbeam move 

Across the aisle, or listening to the bird 

Whose free, wild song sounds through the open door. 

Thou God supreme — I too, I too, believe I 
But O, forgive, if this one human word. 
Binding the deep and breathless thought of Thee 
And my own conscience with an iron band, 
Stick in my throat. I cannot say it, thus — 
This "I believe" that doth Thyself obscure; 
This rod to smite; this barrier; this blot 
On Thy most unimaginable face * 
And soul of majesty. 

'T is not man's faith 
In Thee that he proclaims in echoed phrase. 
But faith in man; faith not in Thine own Christ, 
But in another man's dim thought of him. 

Christ of Judea, look thou in my heart ! 

Do I not love thee, look to thee, in thee 

Alone have faith of all the sons of men — 

Faith deepening with the weight and woe of years. 

Pure soul and tenderest of all that came 
Into this world of sorrow, hear my prayer: 

Lead me, yea, lead me deeper into life, 
This suffering, human life wherein thou liv'st 



NON SINE DOLORE l8l 

And breathest still, and hold'st thy way divine. 
'T is here, O pitying Christ, where thee I seek, 
Here where the strife is fiercest; where the sun 
Beats down upon the highway thronged with men, 
And in the raging mart. O I deeper lead 
My soul into the living world of souls 
Where thou dost move. 

But lead me, Man Divine, 
Where'er thou will'st, only that I may find 
At the long journey's end thy image there. 
And grow more like to it. For art not thou 
The human shadow of the infinite Love 
That made and fills the endless universe? 
The very Word of Him, the unseen, unknown 
Eternal Good that rules the summer flower 
And all the worlds that people starry space ! 

NON SINE DOLORE 

I 

What, then, is Life, — what Death? 

Thus the Answerer saith ; 

O faithless mortal, bend thy head and listen : 

Down o'er the vibrant strings. 

That thrill, and moan, and mourn, and glisten. 

The Master draws his bow. 

A voiceless pause; then upward, see, it springs. 

Free as a bird with disimprisoned wings! 

In twain the chord wais cloven, 

While, shaken with woe, 

With breaks of instant joy all interwoven, 

Piercing the heart with Ijtic knife, 



l82 TWO WORLDS 

On, on the ceaseless music sings, 

Restless, intense, serene; — 

Life is the downward stroke; the upward, Life; 

Death but the pause between. 

II 

Then spake the Questioner: If 't were only this, 
Ah, who could face the abyss 
That plunges steep athwart each human breath? 
If the new birth of Death 
Meant only more of Life as mortals know it, 
What priestly balm, what song of highest poet, 
Could heal one sentient soul's immitigable pain? 
All, all were vain ! 

If, having soared pure spirit at the last. 
Free from the impertinence and warp of ftesh, 
We find half joy, half pain, on every blast; 
Are caught again in closer-woven mesh — 
Ah! who would care to die 

From out these fields and hills, and this familiar sky; 
These firm, sure hands that compass us, this dear human- 
ity? 

ni 

Again the Answerer saith : 

O ye of little faith. 

Shall, then, the spirit prove craven, 

And Death's divine deliverance but give 

A summer rest and haven? 

By all most noble in us, by the light that streams 

Into our waking dreams, 

Ah, we who know what Life is, let us live! 

Clearer and freer, who shall doubt ? 

Something of dust and darkness cast forever out; 



NON SINE DOLORE 1 83 

But Life, still Life, that leads to higher Life, 
Even tho' the highest be not free from the immortal 
strife. 

The highest! Soul of man, O, be thou bold, 
And to the brink of thought draw near, behold! 
Where, on the earth's green sod, 
Where, where in all the universe of God, 
Hath strife forever ceased? 

When hath not some great orb flashed into space 
The terror of its doom ? When hath no human face 
Turned earthward in despair. 
For that some horrid sin had stampt its image there? 

If at our passing Life be Life increased, 
And we ourselves flame pure unfettered soul. 
Like the Eternal Power that made the whole 
And lives in all He made 

From shore of matter to the unknown spirit shore; 
If, sire to son, and tree to limb. 
Cycle on countless cycle more and more 
We grow to be like Him; 
If He lives on, serene and unafraid, 
Through all His light. His love. His living thought, 
One with the sufferer, be it soul or star; 
If He escape not pain, what beings that are 
Can e'er escape while Life leads on and up the unseen 

way and far? 
If He escape not, by whom all was wrought, 
Then shall not we, — 
Whate'er of godlike solace still may be, — 
For in all worlds there is no Life without a pang, and can 

be naught. 
No Life without a pang! It were not Life, 



1 84 TWO WORLDS 

If ended were the strife — 

Man were not man, nor God were truly God! 

See from the sod 
The lark thrill skyward in an arrow of song: 
Even so from pain and wrong 
Upsprings the exultant spirit, wild and free. 
He knows not all the joy of liberty 
Who never yet was crusht 'neath heavy woe. 
He doth not know, 
Nor can, the bliss of being brave 
Who never hath faced death, nor with unquailing eye hath 
measured his own grav^. 

Courage, and pity, and divinest scorn — 
Self-scorn, self-pity, and high courage of the soul; 
The passion for the goal; 
The strength to never yield tho' all be lost — 
All these are born 

Of endless strife; this is the eternal cost 
Of every lovely thought that through the portal 
Of human minds doth pass with following light. 
Blanch not, O trembling mortal ! 
But with extreme and terrible delight 
Know thou the truth. 
Nor let thy heart be heavy with false ruth. 

No passing burden is our earthly sorrow 
That shall depart in some mysterious morrow. 
'T is His one universe where'er we are — 
One changeless law from sun to viewless star. 
Were sorrow evil here, evil it were forever. 
Beyond the scope and help of our most keen endeavor. 

God doth not dote. 
His everlasting purpose shall not fail. 
Here where our ears are weary with the wail 



ODE 185 

And weeping of the sufferers; there where the Pleiads 

float — 
Here, there, forever, pain most dread and dire 
Doth bring the intensest bliss, the dearest and most sure. 
'T is not from Life aside, it doth endure 
Deep in the secret heart of all existence. 
It is the inward fire. 
The heavenly urge, and the divine insistence. 

Uplift thine eyes, O Questioner, from the sod! 
It were no longer Life, 
If ended were the strife; 
Man were not man, God were not truly God. 



PART VI 



ODE 

Read before the Alpha Chapter of the Phi Beta Kappa Society, Harvard 
University, June 26, 1890. 



In the white midday's full, imperious show 
What glorious colors hide from human sight! 
But in the breathing pause 'twixt day and night 
Forth stream those prisoned splendors, glow on glow ; 
Like billows on they pour 
And beat against the shore 
Of cloud-wrought cliffs high as the utmost dome, 
To die in purple waves that break on dawns to come. 

n 

Divine, divine! O, breathe no earthlier word! 
Behold the western heavens how swift they flame 
With hues that bring to mortal language shame; 



1 86 TWO WORLDS 

Swelling and pulsing like deep music heard 

On sacred summer eves 

When the loud organ grieves 
And thrills with lyric life the incensed air, 
While 'mid the pillared gloom the people bow in prayer. 

in 

Now is it some huge bird with monstrous vans 
That through the sunset plies its shadowy way, 
Catching on outstretched pinions the last play 
Of failing tint celestial ! See ! it spans 
Darkly the fading west, 
And now its beamy crest 
Follows from sight the glittering, golden sun; 
And now one mighty wing-beat more, and all is done. 

IV 

But in those skyey spaces what dread change! 
Thus have we seen the mortal turn immortal; 
So doth the day's soul die, as through death's portal 
The soul of man takes up its heavenward range. 
A million orbs endue 
The unfathomable blue — 
Till, the long miracle of night withdrawn. 
The world beholds once more the miracle of dawn. 



Dawn, eve, and night, the iridescent seas. 

Bright moon, enlightening sun, and quivering stars, 
The midnight rose whose petals are the bars 
Of Boreal lights, the pomp of autumn trees, 
The pearl of curved shells, 
The prismy bow that swells 
'Gainst stormy skies — these witness, these are sign 
Of thee, O spirit of Beauty, eternal and divine! 



ODE 187 

VI 

And fairer still than all, — chief sign of all, — 
The naked loveliness in Eden's bower, 
Whose flesh blusht back the tint of fruit and flower; 
Whose eye reflamed the starlight; who could call 
Father and friend the God 
That pluckt them from the sod; 
The Almighty's image, and Creation's hight; 
Whose deep souls mirrored clear the circling day and 
night. 

VII 

Spirit of Beauty ! 'neath thy joyful spell 
Man hath been ever; therefore doth each breeze 
Bring to his tranced ears glad melodies, — ■ 
Voices of birds, the brook's low, silvery bell, — 
Wild music manifold, 
Which he hath power to hold 
His own enchanted harmonies among. 
That echo round the world the songs that nature sung. 

vin 
And thus all Beautiful in Holiness 

Doth Israel stand before the Eternal One; 
Striking his harp with rapt, angeHc tone. 
Till tribes and nations the Unseen God confess; 
Knowing that only where 
His face makes white the air 
Could such seraphic song have mortal birth. 
One saving faith sublime to keep alive on earth. 

IX 

And therefore with most passionate desire 
And longing, man yearned ever to express 
Thy majesty, and light, and loveliness. 



1 88 TWO WORLDS 

O Spirit of Beauty, unconsuming fire ! 

Therefore by ancient Nile 

Rose the vast columned aisle, 
And on the Athenian Hill the wonder white 
Whose shattered glory is the world's supreme delight. 



So is it that to thy imperial shore. 
Bright Italy! the generations fly, 
Even but once to breathe, or e'er they die, 
Where did a godlike race its soul outpour; 
Its birth divine revealing 
On glorious wall and ceiling, 
While dome and rhythmic statue, Beauty- wrought, 
Declare all human art is but what Heaven hath taught. 

XI 

Fair Italy ! whose dread and peerless hight 
The song is of the awful Ghibelline ! 
Poet! who 'mid the threefold dream divine 
Didst follow Art and Love to the Central Light! 
Tell us, O Dante! tell 
What thou dost know so well, 
That horror and death are but the shade and foil 
or Beauty, deathless, godlike, with never scathe or soil. 

XII 

Spirit divine ! man falls upon the sod 
In awe of thee, in worship and amaze : — 
Thou older than the mountains, or the blaze 
Of sunsets, or the sun; thou old as God; 
As God who did create 
Long ere man reached his state 
All shapes of natural Beauty that men see. 
And His wide universe did dedicate to thee. 



TO ROSAMOND 1 89 

xin 

Ye who bear on the torch of living art 
In this new world, saved for some wondrous fate, 
Deem not that ye have come, alas, too late, 
But haste right forward with unfailing heart! 
Ye shall not rest forlorn; 
Behold, even now, the morn 
Rises in splendor from the orient sea. 
And the new world shall greet a new divinity. 

XIV 

Shall greet, ah, who can say! a nobler face 
Than from the foam of Cytherean seas: 
Loveliness lovelier; mightier harmonies 
Of song and color; an intenser grace; 
Beauty that shall endure 
Like Charis, heavenly-pure; 
A Spirit solemn as the starry night. 
And full as the triumphant dawn of golden light. 



AFTER-SONG 

TO ROSAMOND 

Rose of the world, 
Bloom of the year, 
Birth of the dawn! 
By morn's one star 
Lighted to life 1 — 
Thoii and my songs 
Come to the day 
Hand claspt in hand. 



IQO TWO WORLDS 

Flung on this page 
May the glow of thy name 
Back through each song 
Shine with the light 
Drawn from the skies — 
Thou birth of the dawn, 
Flower of the morn, 
Rose of the world! 



THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE 

AND OTHER POEMS 



THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE 

AND OTHER POEMS 

PART I 
THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE 

Read at the Annual Reunion of the Society of the Army of the Potomac, 
Faneuil Hall, Boston, June 27, 1893. 

Comrades, the circle narrows, heads grow white, 

As once more by the camp-fire's flaring hght 

We gather and clasp hands, as we have done 

These many, many years. So long ago 

A part we were of all that glorious show, — 

Stood, side by side, 'neath the red battle-sun, — 

So long ago we breathed war's thunderous breath, 

Knew the white fury of that life-in-death, 

So long ago that troubled joy, it seems 

The valorous pageant might resolve to splendid dreams. 

But no ! Too deep 't is burned into the brain ! 
As well were Hghtning-scar by summer rain 
Washed clean away, when stroke on blinding stroke 
Hath torn the rock, and riven the blackened oak. 

How oft as down these peaceful streets we pass 
All vanishes save, lo ! the rutted grass, 
Wreckt caissons, frightened beasts, and, merciful God ! 
The piteous burden of the ensanguined sod ! 

Yet not all terror doth the memory save 
From war's emblazonry and open grave: 
In glimpses, flashing like a meteor's light, 



194 THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE 

A silent army marches through the night; 

The guidons flutter in a golden valley 

Where, at the noonday halt, the horsemen dally; 

Or, look! a thousand tents gleam through the black; 

Or, now, where quick-built camp-fires flame and crack, 

From blaze to shade men stretch o'erwearied limbs, 

Chant songs, or wake the hills with chorused hymns; 

Or, ere the dawn makes pale the starry dark. 

The fiery signals, spark on trailing spark, 

Write on the silent sky their still command. 

While the great army moves, drawn by a single hand. 

So long ago it seems, so long ago. 
Behold, our sons, grown men since those great days, — 
Born since the last clear bugle ceased to blow 
Its summons down the valley; since the bays 
Shook with the roar of fort and answering fleet, — 
Our very children look into our eyes 
And find strange records, with a mute surprise; 
As they some curious traveler might greet 
Who kept far countries in his musing mind, 
Beyond the weltering seas, the mountain-walls behind. 

And yet it was this land and not another, 
Where blazed war's flame and rolled the battle-cloud. 
In all this land there was no home where brother, 
Father, or son hurried not forth; where bowed 
No broken-hearted woman when pale Death 
Laid his cold finger on the loved one's breath. 

Like to a drama did the scene unroll — 
Some dark, majestic drama of the soul, 
Wherein all strove as actors, hour by hour, 
Yet breathless watched the whole swift, tragic play. 
Faithful did each his little part essay. 



THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE 1 95 

Urged to an end unknown by one all-knowing Power; 

While if the drama pauses, now and then, 

On the huge stage, 't is for a moment only — 

Here at the heart or in some vista lonely, 

A single hero or a million men. 

And with the tragic theme the world resounds again. 

First, in the awful waiting came the shock. 
The shame unbearable, the sacred flag assailed — 
Assailed in freedom's name by those who freedom mock! 
Ah, then the oath, to stand as stands the rock 
'Gainst flood and tempest, lest that flag be trailed 
And torn, or any star therefrom be lost — 
The oath, murmured alone, or where the crowd. 
As by a wind of heaven swept and tost. 
Passioned its soul to God, and strong men wept aloud. 

Then sweet farewell; O bitter-sweet farewell; 
O brave farewell! Who were the bravest then, 
Or they who went, or waited — women or men ? 
They who the cheers heard, or the funeral knell? 
They who stept proudly to the rattling drum. 
Inflamed by war's divine delirium. 
Or they who knew no mad joy of the fight, 
And yet breathed on through waiting day and weeping 
night ? 

Farewell and forward! O, to live it over, 
The first wild heart-beat of heroic hours! 
Forward, like mountain-torrents after showers! 
Forward to death, as to his bride the lover! 
Forward, till quick recoils the impetuous flood. 
And ends the first dread scene in terror and in blood! 

Onward once more, through sun and shivering storm, — 
A monstrous length with wavering bulk enorm, — 
Wounded or striking, bringing blood or bleeding. 



196 THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE 

Onward, still on, the agony unheeding! 
Onward with failing heart, or courage high ! 
Onward through heat, and hunger, and dismay, 
Turning the starry night to murderous day! 
Onward, with hope appalled, once more to strike, and 
die! 

So marched, so fought, so agonized, the hosts; 
Battling through forests; rotting where slow crawls 
The deathly swamp-stream; and like pallid ghosts 
Haunting the hospitals, and loathed prison-walls. 
They knew what freedom was, and right to breathe 
Clean air who burrowed from the filth and seethe 
Of foulest pens, only that dogs might track. 
And to the death-pit drag their living corpses back. 

O, would to Heaven some sights could fade from out 
Clear memory's all too melancholy page — 
Fade and be gone forever! Let the shout 
Of victory only linger, and the rage 
And glory of battle over land and sea, 
And all that noblest is in war's fierce pageantry. 

Echoes of deeds immortal, O, awake! 
Tremble to language, into music break, 
Till lyric memory takes the old emotion, 
And leaps from heart to heart the ancient thrill! 
Tell of great deeds that yet the wide earth fill : 
How first upon the amazed waves of ocean 
The black, infernal, deadly armored-ships 
Together rushed, and all the world stood still, 
While a new word of war burst from those iron lips; 
How up the rivers thundered the strong fleets; 
How the great captains 'gainst each other dashed 
Gigantic armies. What wild welcome meets 
Some well-loved chief who, ere those armies clashed, 



THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE 197 

Rides like a whirlwind the embattled line, 
Kindling the stricken ranks to bravery divine! 
And, hark, at set of sun, the cheer that greets 
Victorious news from far-off armies, flashed 
From camp to camp, with roar on answering roar, 
Like bellowing waves that track the tempest down the 
shore. 
But chiefly tell of that one hour of all 
When threatening war rolled highest its full tide, 
Even to the perilous northern mountain-side 
Where Heaven should bid our good cause rise or fall. 
Tell of that hour, for never in all the world 
Was braver army 'gainst a braver hurled. 
To both the victory, all unawares, 
Beyond all dreams of losing or of winning; 
For the new land which now is ours and theirs. 
Had on that topmost day its glorious beginning. 
They who charged up that drenched and desperate slope 
Were heroes all — and looked in heroes' eyes ! 
Ah ! heroes never heroes did despise ! 
That day had Strife its bloodiest bourn and scope; 
Above the shaken hills and sulphurous skies 
Peace lifted up her mournful head and smiled on Hope. 

Rushed the great drama on its tragic way 
Swift to the happy end from that tremendous day. 
Happy, indeed, could memory lose her power 
And yield to joy alone the glad, triumphant hour; 
Happy if every aching heart could shun 
Remembrance of the unreturning one; 
If at the Grand Review, when mile on mile 
And day on day the marching columns past. 
Darkened not o'er the world the shadow vast 
Of his foul murder — he the free from guile. 



igS THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE 

Sad-hearted, loving, and beloved, and wise, 
Who ruled with sinewy hands and dreaming eyes. 
What soul that lived then who remembers not 
The hour, the landscape, ah ! the very spot, — 
Hateful for aye, — where news that he was slain 
Struck like a hammer on the dazed brain! 

So long ago it was, so long ago, 
All, all have past; the terror and the splendor 
Have turned like yester-evening's stormy glow 
Into a sunset memory strange and tender. 
How beautiful it seems, what lordly sights. 
What deeds sublime, what wondrous days and nights. 
What love of comrades, ay, what quickened breath, 
When first we knew that, startled, quailing, still 
We too, even we, along the blazing hill. 
We, with the best, could face and conquer death! 

Glorious all these, but these all less than naught 
To the one passion of those days divine. 
Love of the land our own hearts' blood had bought — 
Our country, our own country, yours and mine, 
Then known, then sternly loved, first in our lives. 
Ah! loved we not our children, sisters, wives? 
But our own country, this was more than they, — 
Our wives, our children, this, — our hope, our love 
For all most dear, but more — ■ the dawning day 
Of freedom for the world, the hope above 
All hope for the sad race of man. For where, 
In what more lovely world, 'neath skies more fair, 
If freedom here should fail, could it find soil and air? 

In this one thought, one passion, — • whate'er fate 
Still may befall, — one moment we were great ! 
One moment in life's brief, perplexed hour 



THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE 199 

We climbed the hight of being, and the power 
That falls alone on those who love their kind 
A moment made us one with the Eternal Mind. 

One moment, ah! not so, dear Country! Thou 
Art still our passion; still to thee we bow 
In love supreme! Fairer than e'er before 
Art thou to-day, from golden shore to shore 
The home of freemen. Not one stain doth cling 
Now to thy banner. Argosies of war 
On thy imperial rivers bravely fling 
Flags of the nations, but no message bring 
Save of peace only; while, behold, from far 
The Old World comes to greet thy natal star 
That with the circling century returns, 
And in the Western heavens with fourfold beauty burns. 

Land that we love ! Thou Future of the World ! 
Thou refuge of the noble heart opprest! 
O, never be thy shining image hurled 
From its high place in the adoring breast 
Of him who worships thee with jealous love ! 
Keep thou thy starry forehead as the dove 
All white, and to the eternal Dawn inclined! 
Thou art not for thyself but for mankind, 
And to despair of thee were to despair 
Of man, of man's high destiny, of God! 
Of thee should man despair, the journey trod 
Upward, through unknown eons, stair on stair, 
By this our race, with bleeding feet and slow, 
Were but the pathway to a darker woe 
Than yet was visioned by the heavy heart 
Of prophet. To despair of thee ! Ah, no ! 
For thou thyself art Hope, Hope of the World thou art ! 



200 THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE 

Comrades beloved, see, the fire burns low. 
And darkness thickens. Soon shall our brief part 
On earth forever end, and we shall go 
To join the unseen ranks; nor will we swerve 
Or fear, when to the silent, great reserve 
At last we ordered are — as one by one 
Our Captains have been called, their labors done, 
To rest and wait in the Celestial Field. 
Ay, year by year, we to the dead did yield 
Our bravest. Them we followed to the tomb 
Sorrowing ; for they were worthy of our love — 
High-souled and generous, loving peace above 
War and its glories: therefore lives no gloom 
In this our sorrow; rather pride, and praise. 
And gratitude, and memory of old days. 

A little while and these tired hands will cease 
To lift obedient or in war or peace — 
Faithful we trust in peace as once in war; 
And on the scroll of peace some triumphs are 
Noble as battles won; tho' less resounds 
The fame, as deep and bitter are the wounds. 

But now the fire burns low, and we must sleep 
Erelong, while other eyes than ours the vigil keep. 
And after we are gone, to other eyes 
That watch below shall come, in starry skies, 
A fairer dawn, whereon in fiery light 
The Eternal Captain shall his signals write; 
And shaken from rest, and gazing at that sign. 
On shall the mighty Nation move, led by a hand divine. 



THE WHITE CITY 20I 

PART II 
"THE WHITE CITY" 

(the COLUMBIAN EXPOSITION) 
I 

Greece was; Greece is no more. 

Temple and town 

Have crumbled down; 

Time is the fire that hath consumed them all. 

Statue and wall 

In ruin strew the universal floor. 

II 

Greece lives, but Greece no more! 

Its ashes breed 

The undying seed 

Blown westward till, in Rome's imperial towers, 

Athens reflowers; 

Still westward — lo, a veiled and virgin shore ! 

Ill 

Say not, "Greece is no more." 

Through the clear morn 

On light winds borne 

Her white-winged soul sinks on the New World's breast. 

Ah ! happy West — 

Greece flowers anew, and all her temples soar! 

IV 

One bright hour, then no more 
Shall to the skies 
These columns rise. 



202 THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE 

But tho' art's flower shall fade, again the seed 

Onward shall speed, 

Quickening the land from lake to ocean's roar. 

V 

Art lives, tho' Greece may never 

From the ancient mold 

As once of old 

Exhale to heaven the inimitable bloom; 

Yet from that tomb 

Beauty walks forth to light the world forever! 

THE VANISHING CITY 



Enraptured memory, and all ye powers of being, 

To new life waken ! Stamp the vision clear 
On the soul's inmost substance. O, let seeing 

Be more than seeing; let the entranced ear 
Take deep these surging sounds, inweaved with light 

Of unimagined radiance; let the intense 
Illumined loveliness that thrills the night 

Strike in the human heart some deeper sense! 
So shall these domes that meet heaven's curved blue, 

And yon long, white, imperial colonnade. 
And many-columned peristyle, endue 

The mind with beauty that shall never fade; 
Tho' all too soon to dark oblivion wending — 
Reared in one happy hour to know as swift an ending. 

II 

Thou shalt of all the cities of the world 
Famed for their grandeur, evermore endure 

Imperishably and all alone impearled 

In the world's living thought, the one most sure 



THE VANISHING CITY 203 

Of love undying and of endless praise 

For beauty only — chief of all thy kind; 
Immortal, even because of thy brief days; 

Thou cloud-built, fairy city of the mind! 
Here man doth pluck from the full tree of life 

The latest, lordliest flower of earthly art ; 
This doth he breathe, while resting from his strife, 

This presses he against his weary heart; 
Then, wakening from his dream within a dream. 
He flings the faded flower on Time's down-rushing 
stream. 

Ill 

O, never as here in the eternal years 

Hath burst to bloom man's free and soaring spirit, 
Joyous, untrammeled, all untouched by tears 

And the dark weight of woe it doth inherit. 
Never so swift the mind's imaginings 

Caught sculptured form, and color. Never before, — 
Save where the soul beats unembodied wings 

'Gainst viewless skies, — was such enchanted shore 
Jeweled with ivory palaces like these: 

By day a miracle, a dream by night; 
Yet real as beauty is, and as the seas 

Whose waves glance back keen lines of glittering light 
When million lamps, and coronets of fire. 
And fountains as of flame, to the bright stars aspire. 

IV 

Glide, magic boat, from out the green lagoon, 
'Neath the dark bridge, into this smiting glow 

And unthought glory. Even the glistening moon 
Hangs in the nearer splendor. Let not go 

The scene, my soul, till ever 't is thine own! . , 

This is Art's citadel and crown. How still 



204 THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE 

The innumerous multitudes from every zone, 
That watch and listen; while each eye doth fill 

With joyous tears unwept. Now solemn strains 
Of brazen music give the waiting soul 

Voice and a sigh — it other speech disdains, 
Here where the visual sense faints to its goal! 

Ah, silent multitudes, ye are a part 

Of the wise architect's supreme and glorious art! 



O joy almost too high for saddened mortal! 

O ecstasy envisioned! Thou shouldst be 
Lasting as thou art lovely; as immortal 

As through all time the matchless thought of thee! 
Yet would we miss, then, the sweet, piercing pain 

Of thy inconstancy! Could we but banish 
This haunting pang, ah, then thou wouldst not reign 

One with the golden sunset that doth vanish 
Through myriad lingering tints down melting skies; 

Nor the pale mystery of the New World flower 
That blooms once only, then forever dies — 

Pouring a century's wealth on one dear hour. 
Then vanish. City of Dream, and be no more; 
Soon shall this fair Earth's self be lost on the unknown 
shore. 



THE TOWER OF FLAME 

(THE COLUMBIAN EXPOSITION, JULY lO, 1 893) 

Here for the world to see men brought their fairest, 
Whatever of beauty is in all the earth; 

The priceless flower of art, the loveliest, rarest. 
Here by our inland ocean came to glorious birth. 



LOWELL 



205 



Yet on this day of doom a strange new splendor 
Shed its celestial light on all men's eyes: 

Flower of the hero-soul, — consummate, tender, — 
That from the tower of flame sprang to the eternal 
skies. 

LOWELL 



From the shade of the elms that murmured above thy 

birth 
And the pines that sheltered thy life and shadowed the 

end, 
'Neath the white-blue skies thee to thy rest we bore, — 
'Neath the summer skies thou didst love, 'mid the songs 

of thy birds. 
By thy childhood's stream, 'neath the grass and the 

flowers thou knewest. 
Near the grave of the singer whose name with thine own 

is enlaureled. 
By the side of the brave who live in thy deathless song, — 
Here all that was mortal of thee we left, with our tears, 
With our love, and our grief that could not be quenched 

or abated; 
For even the part that was mortal, sweet friend and com- 
panion ! 
That face, and that figure of beauty, and flashing eye 
Which in youth shone forth like a god's 'mid lesser men. 
And in gray-haired, strenuous age still glowed and lus- 

tered, — 
These, too, were dear to us, — blame us not, soaring spirit ! 
These, too, were dear, and now we shall never behold 

them. 
Nor ever shall feel the quick clasp of thy welcoming hand. 



2o6 THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE 

II 

But not for ourselves alone are we spent in grieving. 
For the stricken Land we mourn whose light is darkened, 
Whose soul in sorrow went forth in the night-time with 

thine. 
Lover and laureate thou of the wide New World, 
Whose pines, and prairies, and people, and teeming soil, 
Where was shaken of old the seed of the freedom of men, 
Thou didst love as a strong man loveth the maiden he 

woos, — 
Not the woman he toys with, and sings to, and, passing, 

forgets, — 
Whom he woos, whom he wins, whom he weds; his pas- 
sion, his pride; 
Who no shadow of wrong shall suffer, who shall stand in 

his sight 
Pure as the sky of the evil her foeman may threat, 
Save by word or by thought of her own in her whiteness 

untouched 
And wounded alone of the lightning her spirit engenders. 

in 

Take of thy grief new strength, new life, O Land ! 
Weep no more he is lost, but rejoice and be glad forever 
That thy lover who died was born, for thy pleasure, thy 

glory — 
While his love and his fame light ever thy climbing path. 

August 14, 1891. 

THE SILENCE OF TENNYSON 

When that great shade into the silence vast 

Through thinking silence past; 

When he, our century's soul and voice, was husht, 



A HERO OF PEACE 207 

We who, — appalled, bowed, crusht, — 

Within the holy moonlight of his death 

Waited the parting breath; 

Ah, not in song 

Might we our grief prolong. 

Silence alone, O golden spirit fled! 

Silence alone could mourn that silence dread. 



ON THE DEATH OF A GREAT MAN 

PHILLIPS BROOKS 

When from this mortal scene 

A great soul passes to the vast unknown, 

Let not in hopeless grief the spirit groan. 

Death comes to all, the mighty and the mean. 

If by that death the whole world suffer loss. 

This be the proof (and lighter thus our cross). 

That he for whom the world doth sorely grieve 

Greatly hath blessed mankind in that he once did live. 

Then, at the parting breath 

Let men praise Life, nor idly blame dark Death. 

A HERO OF PEACE 

IN MEMORY OF ROBERT ROSS: SHOT MARCH 6, 1894 

"No bugle on the blast 

Calls warriors face to face; 
Grim battle being forever past. 
Gone is the hero-race." 

Ah. no! there is no peace! 

If liberty shall live, 
Never may freemen dare to cease 

Their love, their life to give. 



2o8 THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE 

Unto the patriot's heart 

The silent summons comes; 
Not braver he who does his part 

To the sound of beating drums. 

And thou who gavest youth, 

And life, and all most dear; 
Sweet soul, impassionate of truth, 

White on thy murdered bier ! — 

Thy deed, thy date, thy name 

Are wreathed with deathless flowers. 

Thy fate shall be the guiding flame 
That lights to nobler hours. 

WASHINGTON AT TRENTON 

THE BATTLE MONUMENT, OCTOBER I9, 1893 

Since ancient Time began, 

Ever on some great soul God laid an infinite burden — 
The weight of all this world, the hopes of man. 

Conflict and pain, and fame immortal are his guerdon ! 

And this the unfaltering token 

Of him, the Deliverer — what tho' tempests beat, 
Tho' all else fail, tho' bravest ranks be broken, 

He stands unscared, alone, nor ever knows defeat. 

Such was that man of men; 

And if are praised all virtues, every fame 
Most noble, highest, purest — then, ah ! then, 

Upleaps in every heart the name none needs to name. 

Ye who defeated, 'whelmed. 
Betray the sacred cause, let go the trust; 



I 



A MONUMENT BY SAINT-GAUDENS 209 

Sleep, weary, while the vessel drifts unhelmed; 
Here see in triumph rise the hero from the dust! 

All ye who fight forlorn 

'Gainst fate and failure; ye who proudly cope 
With evil high enthroned; all ye who scorn 

Life from Dishonor's hand, here take new heart of 
hope. 

Here know how Victory borrows 
For the brave soul a front as of disaster, 

And from the bannered East what glorious morrows 
For all the blackness of the night speed surer, faster. 

Know by this pillared sign 

For what brief while the powers of earth and hell 
Can war against the spirit of truth divine. 

Or can against the heroic heart of man prevail. 

FAME 

Fame is an honest thing. 

It is deceived not; 

It passes by the palace gates 

Where the crowned usurper waits. 

Enters the peasant-poet's cot 

And cries: "Thou art the king!" 

A MONUMENT BY SAINT-GAUDENS 

This is not Death, nor Sorrow, nor sad Hope; 
Nor Rest that follows strife. But, O, more dread! 
'T is Life, for all its agony serene; 
Immortal, and unmournful, and content. 



210 THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE 

A MEMORY OF RUBINSTEIN 

He of the ocean is, its thunderous waves 

Echo his music; while far down the shore 

Mad laughter hurries — a white, blowing spume. 

I hear again in memory that wild storm; 

The winds of heaven go rushing round the world, 

And broods above the rage one sphinx-like face. 

PADEREWSKI 



If songs were perfume, color, wild desire; 

If poet's words were fire 

That burned to blood in purple-pulsing veins; 

If with a bird-like thrill the moments throbbed to hours; 

If summer's rains 

Turned drop by drop to shy, sweet, maiden flowers; 

If God made flowers with light and music in them, 

And saddened hearts could win them; 

If loosened petals touched the ground 

With a caressing sound; 

If love's eyes uttered word 
No Hstening lover e'er before had heard; 
If silent thoughts spake with a bugle's voice; 
If flame passed into song and cried, "Rejoice! Rejoice!'* 

If words could picture life's, hope's, heaven's eclipse 
When the last kiss has fallen on dying eyes and lips; 
If all of mortal woe 
Struck on one heart with breathless blow on blow; 

If melody were tears, and tears were starry gleams 
That shone in evening's amethystine dreams; 
Ah, yes, if notes were stars, each star a different hue, 
Trembling to earth in dew; 



HANDEL'S LARGO 211 

Or if the boreal pulsings, rose and white, 

Made a majestic music in the night; 

If all the orbs lost in the light of day 

In the deep, silent blue began their harps to play; 

And when in frightening skies the lightnings flashed 
And storm-clouds crashed, 
If every stroke of light and sound were but excess of 

beauty ; 
If human syllables could e'er refashion 
That fierce electric passion; 

If other art could match (as were the poet's duty) 
The grieving, and the rapture, and the thunder 
Of that keen hour of wonder, — 

That light as if of heaven, that blackness as of hell, — 
How the great master plays then might I dare to tell. 

II 

How the great master plays ! And was it he 
Or some disbodied spirit which had rushed 
From silence into singing; and had crushed 
Into one startled hour a life's felicity, 
And highest bliss of knowledge — that all pain, grief, 

wrong. 
Turn at the last to beauty and to song! 

HANDEL'S LARGO 

When the great organs, answering each to each, 
Joined with the violin's celestial speech. 
Then did it seem that all the heavenly host 
Gave praise to Father, Son, and Holy Ghost : 
We saw the archangels through the ether winging; 
We heard their souls go forth in solemn singing; 
"Praise, praise to God," they sang, "through endless 
days. 



212 THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE 

Praise to the Eternal One, and naught but praise"; 
And as they sang the spirits of the dying 
Were upward borne from lips that ceased their sighing; 
And dying was not death, but deeper Hving — ■ 
Living, and prayer, and praising and thanksgiving! 

THE STAIRWAY 

By this stairway narrow, steep, 

Thou shalt climb from song to sleep; 

From sleep to dream and song once more; — 

Sleep well, sweet friend, sleep well, dream deep! 

THE ACTOR 

Glorious that ancient art ! — 
In thine own form to show the fire and fashion 
Of every age and clime, of every passion 
That dwells in man's deep heart! 

Player, play well, not meanly, 

Thy part in life, as on the mimic stage! 

From highest thought is born art's noblest rage: 

Live, act, end all, serenely! 

THE STRICKEN PLAYER 

When at life's last the stricken player lies. 
When throng before his darkened, dreaming eyes 
His soul's companions, which more real then — 
The human comrades, the live women and men 
Of the large world he knew, or the ideal 
Imagined creatures his own art made real; 
Wherein he poured his spirit's very being. 
His soul and body? Are those dim eyes seeing 



AN AUTUMN DIRGE 213 

Himself as one of Shakespeare's men? Are maids 
And queens he wooed, the kings he was, or knew 
Upon the tragic stage, are these the shades 
That now his visionary hours pursue. 
Attendant on his passing? Listen near! 
What breathed murmurs 'scape those pallid lips 
To which the nations hearkened, ere the eclipse 
Of all that brightness? Now lean close and hear; 
Ah, see that look, sweeter than when he smiled 
Upon the applauding world, while she draws near 
And hears a dear voice whisper: "Child, my Child!" 

AN AUTUMN DIRGE 

(e. f. h.) 
I 
O EASE my heart, sad song, O ease my heart! 
In all this autumn pageantry no part 
Hath sorrow ! Woods, and fields, and meadows glow 
With jeweled colors. All alone I go 
Amid the poignant beauty of the year. 
Too heavy-hearted for one easeful tear. 

For she who loved this autumn splendor. 
These flaming marsh-flowers, oak-leaves rich and ten- 
der, — 
And who in loving all, made all to me more dear, — 
No more is here; 
No more, no more is here ! 

Sad song, O, bring some thought 
With music from some happy memory caught! 
No light for me in all the lovely day 
Those eyes being shut that first did lead the way 
'Neath these great pines whose green vault hides the sky, 
And down the rock-strewn shore where the white sea- 
birds cry ! 



214 THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE 

II 

All fades but those young, happy hours, 
And in my soul once more the old joy flowers. 
It flowers once more only to bring new pain; 
For all in vain, 

O song! thou singest in my grieving heart! 
Thou hast no art 

To bring again the smile I loved so well, 
The voice that like a bell 
Sounded all moods of sorrow and of laughter. 
And the dear presence that in childhood's earliest 

thought, 
And all the bright or darkened days thereafter, 
Into my life a saddened sweetness brought — 
Something of mother and of sister love, 
A friendship far above 
The ties that bind and loosen as we tread 
The thronged pleasures of Hfe's later days. 

Sweet maiden soul, I cannot praise 
But mourn thee, mourn thee, to the shadows fled. 

in 

Shadows, O nevermore! 
For when past forth thy spirit it did seem 
As if against the black a golden door 
Were opened and a gleam 
From the eternal Light fell on thy face 
And made a visible glory in the place. 

Ah, well I know 
Whatever be the source from whence we flow, 
Whate'er the power begot these hearts of ours, — 
As the great earth brings forth the summer flowers, — 
That power is good, is God, and in her dying room 
Humaned itself to sense and lightened all the gloom. 



AT NIAGARA 215 

ELEONORA DUSE 

If ever flashed upon this mortal scene 

A soul unsheathed, a pale, trembling flame, 

That suffered every gust, and yet did cling 

With fire unquenchable — it is thine own. 

Thou artist of the real! Unto thee 

No mirth of life is secret; but, sweet soul, 

With what sure art thou picturest human woe! 

How natural tears to those Italian eyes — 

Shadowing in untold depths whatever grief 

Familiar is to mortals! 

KELP ROCK 

(e. c. s.) 

Rock 's the song-soil, truly 
(So sang one bard of power); 
Therefore our poet duly 
Built on this rock his tower; 
And therefore in his singing 
We breathe the salty morning; 
We hear the storm-bell ringing. 
The "siren's" piercing warning. 
The sea-winds roaring, sighing, 
The long waves rising, falling; 
We hear the herons calling. 
The clashing waves replying. 

AT NIAGARA 

I 

There at the chasm's edge behold her lean 

Trembling as, 'neath the charm, 

A wild bird lifts no wing to 'scape from harm; 



2l6 THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE 

Her very soul drawn to the glittering, green, 
Smooth, lustrous, awful, lovely curve of peril; 
While far below the bending sea of beryl 
Thunder and tumult — whence a billowy spray 
Enclouds the day. 

II 

What dream is hers? No dream hath wrought that 

spell ! 
The long waves rise and sink; 
Pity that virgin soul on passion's brink. 
Confronting Fate, — swift, unescapable, — 
Fate, which of nature is the intent and core, 
And dark and strong as the steep river's pour, 
Cruel as love, and wild as love's first kiss! 
Ah, God! the abyss! 

THE CHILD-GARDEN 

In the child-garden buds and blows 
A blossom lovelier than the rose. 

If all the flowers of all the earth 
In one garden broke to birth, 

Not the fairest of the fair 

Could with this sweet bloom compare; 

Nor would all their shining be 
Peer to its lone bravery. 

Fairer than the rose, I say? 
Fairer than the sun-bright day 

In whose rays all glories show, 
All beauty is, all blossoms blow; 



THE CHRIST-CHILD 21 7 

While beside it deeply shine 
Blooms that take its light divine: 

The perilous sweet flower of Hope 
Here its hiding eyes doth ope, 

And Gentleness doth near uphold 
Its healing leaves and heart of gold; 

Here tender fingers push the seed 

Of Knowledge; pluck the poisonous weed; 

Here blossoms Joy one singing hour, 
And here of Love the immortal flower. 

What this blossom, fragrant, tender. 
That outbeams the rose's splendor — 

Purer is, more tinct with light 
Than the lily's flame of white? 

Of beauty hath this flower the whole, 
And its name — the Human Soul 1 



THE CHRIST-CHILD 

A PICTURE BY FRANK VINCENT DU MOND 

Done is the day of care. 

Into the shadowy room 

Flows the pure evening light, 

To stem the gathering gloom. 

The lily's flame illume, 

And the bowed heads make bright 

The heads bowed low in prayer. 



2l8 THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE 

See how the level rays 
Through the white garments pour 
Of the holy child, who stands, 
With bending brow, to implore 
Grace on the toilers' store; 
O, see those sinless hands! 
Behold, the Christ-child prays! 

Wait, wait, ye lingering rays, 
Stand still, O Earth and Sun, 
Draw near, thou Soul of God — • 
This is the suffering one! 
Already the way is begun 
The pierced Savior trod; 
And now the Christ-child prays, 
The holy Christ-child prays. 

A CHILD 

Her voice was like the song of birds; 

Her eyes were like the stars; 
Her little waving hands were like 

Bird's wings that beat the bars. 

And when those waving hands were still, 
Her soul had fled away, — 

The music faded from the air, 
The color from the day. 

TWO VALLEYS 

Yes, 'tis a glorious sight. 

This valley, that mountain hight. 

The river plunges and roars 
Like the loud sea on its shores 



WASHINGTON SQUARE 219 

What time in waves enorm 
Breaks the gigantic storm. 

The wooded mount doth climb 
To a thought intense, subHme. 

The glory of all I feel; 

But my heart, my heart, will steal 

Down the journey of years. 

Through the lands of laughter and tears, 

Far back to the least of valleys 
Where a slow brook curves and dallies, 

Where a boy, in the twilight gleam, 
Walks alone with his dream. . 

ON THE BAY 

This watery vague how vast ! This misty globe, 
Seen from this center where the ferry plies, — 
It plies, but seems to poise in middle air, — 
Soft gray below gray heavens, and in the west 
A rose-gray memory of the sunken sun; 
And, where gray water touches grayer sky, 
A band of darker gray prickt out with lights — 
A diamond-twinkling circlet bounding all; 
And where the statue looms, a quenchless star; 
And where the lighthouse, a red, pulsing flame; 
While the great bridge its starry diadem 
Lifts through the gray, itself in grayness lost! 

WASHINGTON SQUARE 

This is the end of the town that I love the best. 
O, lovely the hour of light from the burning west — - 



220 THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE 

Of light that lingers and fades in the shadowy square 
Where the solemn fountain lifts a shaft in the air 
To catch the skyey colors, and fling them down 
In a wild-wood torrent that drowns the noise of the 

town. 
And lovely the hour of the still and dreamy night 
When, Hfted against the blue, stands the arch of white 
With one clear planet above; and the sickle moon, 
In curve reversed from the arch's marble round. 
Silvers the sapphire sky. Now soon, ah, soon. 
Shall the city square be turned to holy ground. 
Through the light of the moon and the stars and the 

glowing flower, — 
The Cross of Light, — that looms from the sacred tower. 

THE CITY 

O, DEAR is the song of the pine 

When the wind of the night-time blows, 
And dear is the murmuring river 

That afar through my childhood flows; 
And soft is the raindrop's beat 

And the fountain's lyric play, 
But to me no music is half so sweet 

As the thunder of Broadway! 

Stream of the living world 

Where dash the billows of strife ! — 
One plunge in the mighty torrent 

Is a year of tamer life! 
City of glorious days, 

Of hope, and labor, and mirth. 
With room, and to spare, on thy splendid bays 

For the ships of all the earth I 



A RHYME OF TYRINGHAM 221 

A RHYME OF TYRINGHAM 

Down in the meadow and up on the hight 
The breezes are blowing the willows white. 
In the elms and maples the robins call, 
And the great black crow sails over all 

In Tyringham, Tyringham Valley. 

The river winds through the trees and the brake 
And the meadow-grass like a shining snake; 
And low in the summer and loud in the spring 
The rapids and reaches murmur and sing 

In Tyringham, Tyringham Valley. 

In the shadowy pools the trout are shy. 
So creep to the bank and cast the fly! 
What thrills and tremors the tense cords stir 
When the trout it strikes with a tug and a whir 
In Tyringham, Tyringham Valley! 

At dark of the day the mist spreads white. 

Like a magic lake in the glimmering light ; 

Or the winds from the meadow the white mists blow, 

And the fireflies glitter, — a sky below, — 

In Tyringham, Tyringham Valley. 

And O, in the windy days of the fall 
The maples and elms are scarlet all, 
And the world that was green is gold and red. 
And with huskings and cider they 're late to bed 
In Tyringham, Tyringham Valley. 

Now squirrel and partridge and hawk and hare 
And wildcat and woodchuck and fox beware! 



222 THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE 

The three days' hunt is waxing warm 
For the Count Up Dinner at Riverside Farm 
In Tyringham, Tyringham Valley. 

The meadow-ice will be freezing soon, 
And then for a skate by the light of the moon. 
So pile the wood on the hearth, my boy! 
Winter is coming! I wish you joy 
By the light of the hearth and the moon, my boy, 
In Tyringham, Tyringham Valley. 

ELSIE 

"Do you love me?" Elsie asked. 
And her rose-leaf dimples masked 
'Neath a pleading look, the while 
On her pouting lips a smile 
Hovered, yet was out of sight 
Like a star that's hid at night 
By a filmy, flying cloud. 

"Do you love me?" scarce aloud 
Lovely Cousin Elsie said. 

"Why no answer. Cousin Ed? 
Do you hate me, then, or why 
From Your Highness no reply?'* 
So the chiding witch ran on: 

"In a moment I'll be gone; 
Then too late. Sir No Gallant! 
Quick! I'll tell my precious aunt 
That you love me not," she cries, 

"That you hate me and despise." 
Flash the great, gray, long-lashed eyes; 
Half in earnest now the girl; 
Down the pretty corners curl 



AH, BE NOT FALSE 223 

Of the tiny mouth, and lo! 
From those eyes two tearlets flow ; — 
Just two kisses, and they go! 
# Like a sunburst after showers, 

Like white light upon the flowers. 
Now again the dimples show. 

But she could not understand 
Why so long the answer waited 
For the loved and not the hated, 
While he held that little hand, 
And like a bird she sang and said, — 
Half in earnest, half in fun, — - 
"Do you love me. Solemn One? 
Do you love me, Cousin Ed? 
Do you love me? Do you love me? 
Love me, love me, Cousin Ed?" 

INDIRECTION 

I SAW not the leaf 

But its shadow trembling, trembling down. 
I faced to northward, to my grief. 

When from the southern sky a crimson meteor lit the 
star-dark town. 
I saw not naked Love 
Lean from his porphyry throne above 
And touch her heart to flame, 
Yet on her brow I saw the swift, sweet, virgin shame. 

"AH, BE NOT FALSE '^ 

Ah, be not false, sweet Splendor! 

Be true, be good; 
Be wise as thou art tender; 

Be all that Beauty should. 



224 THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE 

Not lightly be thy citadel subdued; 

Not ignobly, not untimely. 
Take praise in solemn mood; 

Take love sublimely. 



THE ANSWER 

Through starry space two angels dreamed their flight, 
*Mid worlds and thoughts of worlds, through day and 
night. 

Then one spake forth whose voice was like the flower 
That blossoms in the fragrant midnight hour. 
This white-browed angel of the other asked: 

" Of all the essences that ever basked 
In the eternal presence; of all things. 
All thoughts, all joys, all dreads, all sorrowings 
Amid the unimaginable vast — 
Being, or shall be, or forever past — 
Profound with dark, or hid in endless light — 
Which of all these most deep and infinite?" 

Then did the elder speak, the while he turned 
On him who asked clear eyes that slowly burned 
The spirit through, like to a living coal: 
"No depth there is so deep as woman's soul." 

HOW DEATH MAY MAKE A MAN 

Death is a sorry plight. 

It bringeth unto man 
End of all delight. 
Yet many a woeful wight 

Only dying can 

Quit him like a man. 



CAME TO A MASTER OF SONG 225 

Dawdling, drawling, silly, 

Maundering, scarce a man; 

Driven willy-nilly; 

When he's dying will he 
Run as once he ran, 
Or quit him like a man? 

Vile from out the wrack 

Crawls he less than man; 

Cowering in his track 

Beaten, broken, black; 

Curse him if you can — 
Death may make him man. 

In life the wretch did naught 

Worthy of a man; 
Now by Death he's caught, 
What a change is wrought ! 

Whom the world did ban 

Quits life like a man. 

Braced stiff against the wall, 

Behold, at last, a man. 
Lost — life and honor, all ! 
At Death's quick touch and call 

See, the craven can 

Quit him like a man. 

"CAME TO A MASTER OF SONG" 

Came to a master of song 

And the human heart 
One who had followed him long 

And worshiped his art; 



226 THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE 

One whom the poet's singing 

Had lured from death, 
Joy to the crusht soul bringing 

And heaven's breath ; 

Came to him once in an hour 

Of terror and stress, 
And cried, "Thou alone hast power 

To save me and bless; 
Thou alone, pure heart and free, 

Canst pluck from disaster, 
If to a wretch like me 

Thou wih stoop, O master!" 

Answered the bard with shame, 

And sorrow and trembling: 
"Was I false, was my song to blame? 

Was my art dissembling? 
I of all mortals the saddest. 

The quickest to fall. 
And song of mine highest and gladdest 

Repentance all!" 

BARDS 

Some from books resound their rhymes — 
Set them ringing with a faint. 
Sorrowful, and sweet, and quaint 
Memory of the olden times, 
Like the sound of evening chimes. 

Some go wandering on their way 
Through the forest, past the herds, 
Laughing maidens, singing birds; 

On their sylvan lutes they play — 

Danceth by the lyric Day ! 



MERIDIAN 227 

Bards there be the deep sky under 

Who in high, authentic verse 

Mysteries and moods rehearse 
With a voice Hke Sinai's thunder, 
Chanting to a world of wonder. 

And those have sung whose melody. 
Drawn from out the living heart 
With a quick, unfaltering art, 

Hath power to make the listener cry: 

' God in heaven ! It is I." 

MERIDIAN 

Henceforth before these feet 
Sinks the downward way; 
A little while to greet 
The light and life of day. 
Then night's slow fall 
Ends all. 

Now forward, heart elate, 
Tho' steep the pathway slope. 
Time yet for love and hate, 
Joy, and joy's comrade, hope, 
Ere night's slow fall 
Ends all. 

Still the warm sky is blue. 

No fleck the sunlight mars; 

'Twixt hills the sea gleams through; 

With twilight come the stars; 

And night's slow fall 

Ends all. 



228 THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE 

In the cool-breathing night 

The starry sky is deep. 

Still on through glimmering light 

Till we lie down to sleep; 

Then let night's fall 

End all. 

EVENING IN TYRINGHAM VALLEY 

What domes and pinnacles of mist and fire 

Are builded in yon spacious realms of light 
All silently, as did the walls aspire 

Templing the ark of God by day and night! 
Noiseless and swift, from darkening ridge to ridge, 

Through purple air that deepens down the day, 
Over the valley springs a shadowy bridge. 

The evening star's keen, solitary ray 
Makes more intense the silence, and the glad, 

Unmelancholy, restful, twilight gloom — 
So full of tenderness, that even the sad 

Remembrances that haunt the soul take bloom 
Like that on yonder mountain. 

Now the bars 

Of sunset all burn black; the day doth fail, 
And the skies whiten with the eternal stars. 

O, let thy spirit stay with me, sweet vale! 

PART III 
A WEEK'S CALENDAR 

I — NEW YEAR 

Each New Year is a leaf of our love's rose; 
It falls, but quick another rose-leaf grows. 
So is the flower from year to year the sapie, 
But richer, for the dead leaves feed its flame. 



A week's calendar 229 

n — A NEW SOUL 

To see the rose of morning slow unfold 

Each wondrous petal to that heart of gold; 

To see from out the dark, unknowing night 

A new soul dawn with such undreamed-of light,* 

And slowly all its loveliness and splendor 

Pour forth as stately music pours, magnificently tender! 

m — "keep pure thy soul" 

Keep pure thy soul ! 

Then shalt thou take the whole 

Of delight; 

Then, without a pang. 

Thine shall be all of beauty whereof the poet sang — 

The perfume, and the pageant, the melody, the mirth 

Of the golden day, and the starry night; 

Of heaven, and of earth. 

O, keep pure thy soul! 

IV — "thy mind is like a crystal brook" 

Thy mind is like a crystal brook 
Wherein clean creatures live at ease. 
In sun-bright waves or shady nook. 
Birds sing above it. 
The warm-breathed cattle love it, 
It doth sweet childhood please. 

Accurst be he by whom it were undone, 
Or thing or thought whose presence 
The birds and beasts would loathly shun, 
Would make its crystal waters foully run. 
And drive sweet childhood from its pleasance. 



230 THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE 



One deed may mar a life, 

And one can make it; 
Hold firm thy will for strife, 
• Lest a quick blow break it ! 
Even now from far on viewless wing 
Hither speeds the nameless thing 

Shall put thy spirit to the test. 
Haply or e'er yon sinking sun 

Shall drop behind the purple West 
All will be lost — or won I 

VI — THE UNKNOWN 

How strange to look upon the life beyond 

Our human cognizance with so deep awe 

And haunting dread; a sense as of remorse, 

A looking-for of judgment, a great weight 

Of things unknown to happen! We who live 

Blindly from hour to hour in very midst 

Of mysteries; of shapeless, changing glooms; 

Of nameless terrors ; issues vast and black ; 

Of airy whims, slight fantasies, and flights 

That lead to unimaginable woe: 

The unweighed word cloying the life of love; 

One clod of earth outblotting all the stars; 

Some secret, dark inheritance of will, 

And the scared soul plunges to conscious doom ! 

Thou who hast wisdom, fear not Death, but Life! 

VII — IRREVOCABLE 

Would the gods rhight give 
Another field for human strife; 
Man must live one life 



SONGS 231 

Ere he learns to live. 

— Ah, friend, in thy deep grave, 

What now can change, what now can save ? 

PART IV 

SONGS 
"because the rose must fade'* 

Because the rose must fade, 

Shall I not love the rose? 
Because the summer shade 

Passes when winter blows, 
Shall I not rest me there 
In the cool air? 

Because the sunset sky 

Makes music in my soul, 
Only to fail and die. 

Shall I not take the whole 
Of beauty that it gives 
While yet it lives? 

Because the sweet of youth 

Doth vanish all too soon, 
Shall I forget, forsooth. 

To learn its lingering tune; 
My joy to memorize 
In those young eyes? 

If, like the summer flower 

That blooms — a fragrant death. 

Keen music hath no power 
To live beyond its breath, 



232 THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE 

Then of this flood of song 
Let me drink long! 



Ah, yes, because the rose 

Fades like the sunset skies; 

Because rude winter blows 

All bare, and music dies — 

Therefore, now is to me 

Eternity ! 



Fades the rose; the year grows old; 
The tale is told; 
Youth doth depart — 
Only stays the heart. 

Ah, no! if stays the heart, 

Youth can ne'er depart. 

Nor the sweet tale be told — 

Never the rose fade, nor the year grow old. 

THE WINTRY HEART 

On the sad winter trees 

The dead, red leaves remain, 
Tho' to and fro the bleak winds blow, 

And falls the freezing rain. 

So to the wintry heart 

Clings color of the past, 
While through dead leaves shudders and grieves 

The melancholy blast. 



SONGS 2^3 

HAST THOU HEARD THE NIGHTINGALE? 

Yes, I have heard the nightingale. 

As in dark woods I wandered, 

And dreamed and pondered, 

A voice past by all fire 

And passion and desire; 

I rather felt than heard 

The song of that lone bird ; 
Yes, I have heard the nightingale. 

Yes, I have heard the nightingale. 

I heard it, and I followed; 

The warm night swallowed 

This soul and body of mine, 

As burning thirst takes wine. 

While on and on I prest 

Close to that singing breast; 
Yes, I have heard the nightingale. 

Yes, I have heard the nightingale. 
Well doth each throbbing ember 
The flame remember; 
And I, how quick that sound 
Turned drops from a deep wound! 
How this heart was the thorn 
Which pierced that breast forlorn! 

Yes, I have heard the nightingale. 

"in that dread, dreamed-of hour'' 
In that dread, dreamed-of hour 

When in her heart love's rose flames into flower, 
'T is never, never yes, 

But no, no, no, whate'er the startled eyes confess. 



234 THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE 

Her frail denial at last 

Swept clean away like burnt leaves in the blast, 
No longer no, no, no! 

But yes, forever yes, while love's red rose doth blow. 



■ROSE-DARK THE SOLEMN SUNSET" 

Rose-dark the solemn sunset 
That holds my thought of thee; 

With one star in the heavens 
And one star in the sea. 

On high no lamp is lighted, 
Nor where the long waves flow, 

Save the one star of evening 
And the shadow star below. 

Light of my Life! the darkness 
Comes with the twilight dream; 

Thou art the bright star shining, 
I but the shadowy gleam. 

"V^INDS to the silent MORN" 

Winds to the silent morn ; . 

Waves to the ocean; 
Voice to the song unsung; 

Song to emotion; 
Light to the golden flower; 

Bird to the tree; 
Love to the heart of love, 

And I to thee ! 

Dawn to the darkened world; 
Hope to the morrow; 



SONGS 235 

Music to passion; and 

Weeping to sorrow; 
Love to the heart that longs; 

Moon to the sea; 
Heaven to the earthborn soul, 

And thou to me. 

THE UNRETURNING 
I 

Silent, silent are the unreturning! 

What tho' word may reach to them, and yearning, 

Never through the stillness of the night, 

Never in the daytime or the dark 

Comes the long-lost voice, or smile of light; 

Lifts no hand from sea or sunken bark. 

Silent, silent are the unreturning! 

II 
Silent, silent are the unreturning! 
Silent they? — or are we undiscerning? 
Child, my child! is this thy answering voice 
Murmuring far down the mountain lone? 
Evening's smile, that whispers: "Heart, rejoice!" 
Mother mine ! is this thy very own ? 
Nay! nay! Silent are the unreturning; 
Silent, silent are the unreturning ! 

TWO years 
O, THAT was the year the last of those before thee; 
All my world till then but dark before the dawn. 
If then I had died, O, never had I known thee. 
Never had beheld thee; I who won, who own thee; 
Who chose thee, who sing thee, crown thee, and adore 
thee; 
O, death it were indeed to die before that dawn! 



236 THE GREAT REMEMBRANCE 

This was the year when first I did behold thee, 

Thou who on my darkness dawned with lyric light. 
This the golden hour when first thy lover found thee, 
Followed and beguiled thee, and with his singing bound 

thee; 
When all the world with music rang to drown thee and 
enfold thee — 
Thou who turned the darkness to song, and love, and 
light! 



IN PALESTINE 

AND OTHER POEMS 



IN PALESTINE 

AND OTHER POEMS 

PART I 

IN PALESTINE 

Ah, no ! that sacred land 
Where fell the wearied feet of the lone Christ 
Robs not the soul of faith. I shall set down 
The thought was in my heart. If that hath lost 
Aught of its child-belief, 't was long ago, 
Not there in Palestine; and if 't were lost, 
He were a coward who should fear to lose 
A blind, hereditary, thoughtless faith — 
Comfort of fearful minds, a straw to catch at 
On the deep-gulfed and tempest-driven sea. 

Full well I know how shallow spirits lack 
The essence, flinging from them but the form. 
I have seen souls lead barren lives and curst, — 
Bereft of light, and all the grace of life, — 
Because for them the inner truth was lost 
In the frail symbol — hated, shattered, spurned. 

But faith that lives forever is not bound 
To any outward semblance, any scheme 
Fine-wrought of human wonder, or self-love, 
Or the base fear of never-ending pain. 
True faith doth face the blackness of despair, 



240 IN PALESTINE 

• Blank faithlessness itself; bravely it holds 
To duty unrewarded and unshared ; 
It loves where all is loveless; it endures 
In the long passion of the soul for God. 

'T was thus I thought : - 
At last the very land whose breath he breathed, 
The very hills his bruised feet did climb ! 
This is his Olivet; on this Mount he stood, 
As I do now, and with this same surprise 
Straight down into the startling blue he gazed 
Of the fair, turquoise mid-sea of the plain. 
That long, straight, misty, dream-like, violet wall 
Of Moab — lo, how close it looms ! The same 
Quick human wonder struck his holy vision. 
About these feet the flowers he knew so well. 
Back where the city's shadow slowly climbs 
There is a wood of olives gaunt and gray, 
And centuries old; it holds the name it bore 
That night of agony and bloody sweat. 

I tell you when I looked upon these fields 
And stony valleys, — through the purple veil 
Of twilight, or what time the Orient sun 
Made shining jewels of the barren rocks, — 
Something within me trembled; for I said: 
This picture once was mirrored in his eyes; 
This sky, that lake, those hills, this loveliness, 
To him familiar were; this is the way 
To Bethany; the red anemones 
Along yon wandering path mark the steep road 
To green-embowered Jordan. All is his: 
These leprous outcasts pleading piteously; 
This troubled country, — troubled then as now, 



IN PALESTINE 24 1 

And wild and bloody, — this is his own land. 
On such a day, girdled by these same hills, 
Prest by this dark-browed, sullen, Orient crowd, 
*On yonder mount, spotted with crimson blooms. 
He closed his eyes, in that dark tragedy 
Which mortal spirit never dared to sound. 
O God ! I saw those eyes in every throng. 

Was he divine, and maker of all worlds, — 
The Godhead veiled in suffering, for our sins, — 
An unimagined splendor poured on earth 
In sacrifice supreme, — this was a scene 
Fit for the tears of angels and all men. 
If he was man — a passionate human heart, 
Like unto ours, but with intenser fire. 
And whiter from the deep and central glow; 
Who loved all men as never man before, 
Who felt as never mortal all the weight 
Of this world's sorrow, and whose sinless hands 
Upstretched in prayer did seem, indeed, to clutch 
The hand divine; if he was man, yet dreamed 
That the Ineffable through him had power, — 
Even through his touch, — to scatter human pain 
(Setting the eternal seal on his high hope 
And promised kingdom); was he only man, 
Thus, thus to aspire, and thus at last to fall ! 
Such anguish! such betrayal! Who could paint 
That tragedy ! one human, piteous cry — 
"Forsaken!" — and black death! If he was God, 
'Twas for an instant only, his despair; 
Or was he man, and there is life beyond. 
And, soon or late, the good rewarded are, 
Then, too, is recompense. 



242 IN PALESTINE 

But was he man, 
And death ends all; then was that tortured death 
On Calvary a thing to make the pulse 
Of memory quail and stop. 

The blackest thought 
The human brain may harbor comes that way. 
Face that, — face all, — yet lose not hope nor heart! 
One perfect moment in the life of love, 
One deed wherein the soul unselfed gleams forth, 
These can outmatch all ill, all doubt, all fear. 
And through the encompassing burden of the world 
Burn swift the spirit's pathway to its God. 

THE ANGER OF CHRIST 

On the day that Christ ascended 

To Jerusalem, 
Singing multitudes attended. 
And the very heavens were rended 

With the shout of them. 

Chanted they a sacred ditty. 

Every heart elate; 
But he wept in brooding pity, 
Then went in the holy city 

By the Golden Gate. 

In the temple, lo! what lightning 

Makes unseemly rout ! 
He in anger, sudden, frightening. 
Drives with scorn and scourge the whitening 
Money-changers out. 



THE BIRDS OF BETHLEHEM 243 

By the way that Christ descended 

From Mount Olivet, 
I, a lonely pilgrim, wended, 
On the day his entry splendid 

Is remembered yet. 

And I thought : If he, returning 

On this high festival, 
Here should haste with love and yearning. 
Where would now his fearful, burning 

Anger flash and fall? 

In the very house they builded 

To his saving name, 
'Mid their altars, gemmed and gilded. 
Would his scourge and scorn be wielded, 

His fierce lightning flame. 

Once again, O Man of Wonder, 

Let thy voice be heard! 
Speak as with a sound of thunder; 
Drive the false thy roof from under; 

Teach thy priests thy word. 

THE BIRDS OF BETHLEHEM 

I HEARD the bells of Bethlehem ring — 
Their voice was sweeter than the priests'; 

I heard the birds of Bethlehem sing 
Unbidden in the churchly feasts. 

They clung and sung on the swinging chain 

High in the dim and incensed air; 
The priests, with repetitions vain, 

Chanted a never-ending prayer. 



244 IN PALESTINE 

So bell and bird and priest I heard, 
But voice of bird was most to me; 

It had no ritual, no word, 

And yet it sounded true and free. 

I thought Child Jesus, were he there, 
Would like the singing birds the best, 

And clutch his little hands in air 
And smile upon his mother's breast. 

NOEL 

Star-dust and vaporous light, — 
The mist of worlds unborn, — 

A shuddering in the awful night 
Of winds that bring the morn. 

Now comes the dawn: the circling earth; 

Creatures that fly and crawl; 
And Man, that last, imperial birth; 

And Christ, the flower of all. 

•'THE SUPPER AT EMMAUS" 

Wise Rembrandt ! thou couldst paint, and thou alone, 
Eyes that had seen what never human eyes 
Before had looked on; him that late had past 
Onward and back through gates of Death and Life. 

O human face where the celestial gleam 

Lingers! O, still to thee the eyes of men 

Turn with deep, questioning worship; seeing there, 

As in a mirror, the Eternal Light 

Caught from the shining of the central Soul 

Whence came all worlds, and whither shall return. 



THE PARTHENON BY MOONLIGHT 245 

THE DOUBTER 

Thou Christ, my soul is hurt and bruised! 

With words the scholars wear me out; 
My brain o'erwearied and confused, 

Thee, and myself, and all I doubt. 

And must I back to darkness go 
Because I cannot say their creed? 

I know not what I think; I know 
Only that thou art what I need. 

THE PARTHENON BY MOONLIGHT 



This is an island of the golden Past 

Uplifted in the tranquil sea of night. 
In the white splendor how the heart beats fast, 

When climbs the pilgrim to this gleaming hight; 
As might a soul, new-born, its wondering way 

Take through the gates of pearl and up the stair 
Into the precincts of celestial day. 

So to this shrine my worshiping feet did fare. 

II 

But look ! what tragic waste ! Is Time so lavish 

Of dear perfection thus to see it spilled? 
'T was worth an empire; — now behold the ravish 

That laid it low. The soaring plain is filled 
With the wide-scattered letters of one word 

Of loveliness that nevermore was spoken; 
Nor ever shall its like again be heard : 

Not dead is art — but that high charm is broken. 



246 IN PALESTINE 

III 

Now moonlight builds with swift and mystic art 

And makes the ruin whole — and yet not whole; 
But exquisite, tho' crusht and torn apart. 

Back to the temple steals its living soul 
In the star-silent night ; it comes all pale — 

A spirit breathing beauty and delight, 
And yet how stricken ! Hark ! I hear it wail 

Self-sorrowful, while every wound bleeds white. 

IV 

And tho' more sad than is the nightingale 

That mourns in Lykabettos' fragrant pine. 
That soul to mine brings solace; nor shall fail 

To heal the heart of man while still doth shine 
Yon planet, doubly bright in this deep blue; 

Yon moon that brims with fire these violet hills: 
For beauty is of God; and God is true, 

And with His strength the soul of mortal fills. 

THE OTTOMAN EMPIRE 

Let fall the ruin propt by Europe's hands! 

Its tottering walls are but a nest of crime; 
Slayers and ravishers in licensed bands 

Swarm darkly forth to shame the face of Time. 

False, imbecile, and cruel; kept in place 
Not by its natural force, but by the fears 

Of foes, scared each of each; even by the grace 
Of rivals — not blood-guiltless all these years ! 

Ay, let the ruin fall, and from its stones 
Rebuild a civic temple pure and fair; 
Where freedom is not alien; where the groans 
Of dying and ravished burden not the air! 
1896. 



KARNAK 247 

KARNAK 



Of all earth's shrines this is the mightiest, 

And none is elder. Pylon, obelisk, 
Column enormous — seek or east or west. 

No temple like to Karnak 'neath the disk 
Of the far-searching sun. Since the first stone 

Here lifted to the heavens its dumb appeal, 
Empires and races to the dread unknown 

Have past — gods great and small 'neath Time's 
slow wheel 
Have fallen and been crusht; — the earth hath shaken 
Ruin on ruin — desolate, dead, forsaken. 

II 

Since first these stones were laid, the solid world, 

Ay, this whole, visible, infinite universe, 
Hath shifted on its base; suns have been hurled 

From heaven; the ever-circling spheres rehearse 
A music new to men. Yet still doth run 

This river, throbbing life through all its lands; 
Those desert mountains lifted to the sun 

Live as of old; and these devouring sands; 
And, under the changing heavens, amazed, apart — 
Still, still the same the insatiate human heart. 

Ill 

And Thou, Eternal, Thou art still the same; 

Thou unto whom the first, sad, questioning face 
Yearned, for a refuge from the insentient frame 

Of matter that doth grind us; seeking grace 
From powers imagined 'gainst the powers we know; — 

Some charm to avert the whirlwind, bring the tide 



248 IN PALESTINE 

And harvest; turn the blind and awful flow 

Of nature! Thou Eternal dost abide 
Silent forever, like the unanswering skies 
That send but empty echoes to men's cries! 

IV 

But not in temples now man's only hope, 

Nor secret ministries of king and priest 
Chanting beyond dark gates that never ope 

Unto the people; nov/ no horned beast 
Looms 'twixt the worshiper and the adored, 

Nor any creature's likeness; He remains 
Unknown as erst; yet Him whom we call Lord 

Is worshiped in the fields as in the fanes. 
We have but faith; we know not; yet He seems 
More near, more human, in our passionate dreams. 



We know not, yet the centuries in their course 

Have built an image in the mind of man; 
We have but faith, yet that mysterious Force 

Less darkly threatens, looms a friendlier plan. 
Far off the singing of the morning stars. 

Yet age by age such words of light are spoken 
(Like whispered messages through prison bars), 

Sometimes men deem the dreadful silence broken, 
And hearts that late were famished and afeared 
Leap to the Voice and onward fare well cheered. 

VI 

Cheered for a little season, but the morrow 
Brings the old heartbreak ; gone is all the gain ; 

Tho' the bowed soul be schooled to its own sorrow, 
Ah, heaven ! to feel earth's heritage of pain, — 



ANGELO, THOU ART THE MASTER 249 

The unescapable anguish of mankind, 

That blots out natural joy ! — O human soul, 

Learn Courage, tho' the lightning strike thee blind; 
Let Duty be thy worship; Love, thy goal: 

Love, Duty, Courage — these make thou thy own, 

Till from the unknown we pass into the unknown. 

"ANGELO, THOU ART THE MASTER" 



Angelo, thou art the master; for thou in thy art 
Compassed the body, the soul; the form and the heart. 
Knew where the roots of the spirit are buried and twined, 
The springs and the rocks that shall suckle — and tor- 
ture and bind. 
Large was thy soul like the soul of a god that creates — 
Converse it held with the stars and the imminent Fates. 
Knewest thou — Art is but Beauty perceived and exprest, 
And the pang of that Beauty had entered and melted thy 

breast. 
Here by thy Slave, again, after long years do I bow — 
Angelo, thou art the master, yea, thou, and but thou. 

Here is the crown of all beauty that lives in the world; 
Spirit and flesh breathing forth from these lips that are 

curled 
With sweetness and sorrow as never, O, never before, 
And from eyes that are heavy with light, and shall weep 

nevermore ; 
And lo, at the base of the statue, that monster of shape — 
Thorn of the blossom of life, mocking face of the ape. 
So Cometh morn from the shadow and murk of the night ; 
From pain springeth joy, and from flame the keen beauty 

of light. 



250 IN PALESTINE 

II 

Beauty! — O, well for the hearts that bow down and 

adore her: 
Heart of mine, hold thou in all the world nothing before 

her. 
All the fair universe now to her feet that is clinging 
Out of the womb of her leapt with the dawn, and the 

singing 
Of stars. O thou Beautiful ! — thee do I worship and 

praise 
In the dark where thy lamps are; again in thy glory of 

days. 
Whose end and beginning thou blessest with piercing 

delight 
Of splendors outspread on the edge of the robe of the 

night. 

Ah, that sweetness is sent not to him whose dull spirit 

would rest 
In the bliss of it; no, not the goal, but the passion and 

quest ; 
Not the vale, but the desert. O, never soft airs shall 

awake 
Thy Soul to the soul of all Beauty, all heaven, and all 

wonder ; 
The summons that comes to thee, mortal, thy spirit to 

shake, 
Shall be the loud clarion's call and the voices of thunder. 

A WINTER TWILIGHT IN PROVENCE 

A STRANGER in a far and ancient land, 

At evening-light I wander. Shade on shade 

The mountain valleys darken, and the plain 



A WINTER TWILIGHT IN PROVENCE 25 1 

Grows dim beneath a chill and iron sky. 

The trees of peace take the last gray of day — 

Day that shone soft on olives, misty-green, 

And aisles of wind-forbidding cypresses, 

And long, white roads, whitely with plane-trees lined, 

And farms content, and happy villages — 

A land that lies close in the very heart 

Of history, and brave, and free, and gay ; 

In all its song lingering one tone of pain. 

But now the wintry twilight silent falls. 
And ghosts of other days stalk the lone fields; 
While through yon sunk and immemorial road, 
Rock-furrowed, rough, and like a torrent's bed. 
Far-stretching into night 'twixt twilight farms, 
I see in dream the unhistoried armies pass. 
With barbarous banners trailing 'gainst the gloom; 
Then, in a thought's flash (centuries consumed), 
In this deep path a fierce and refluent wave 
Brims the confined and onward-pressing march 
With standards slantwise borne; so, to the mind, 
The all-conquering eagle northward takes its flight. 
And one stern empire widens o'er the world. 

There looms the arch of war where once, long gone, 
In these still fields, against those thymy slopes, 
An alien city reared imperial towers: 
See sculptured conqueror, and slave in chains 
Mournful a myriad years; and near the arch 
The heaven-climbing, templed monument 
Embossed with horse and furious warrior! 
Millenniums have sped since those grim wars 
Here grimly carved, the wonder of the churl, — 
The very language dead those warriors cried. 
Deepens the dusk, and on the neighboring hight 
A rock-hewn palace cuts the edge of day 



252 IN PALESTINE 

In giant ruin stark against the sky: 

Ah, misery! I know its piteous tale 

Of armed injustice; monstrous, treacherous force. 

Deepens the dusk, and the enormous towers, 

Still lording o'er a living city near, 

Are lost to sight; but not to thought are lost 

A hundred stories of the old-time curse — 

War and its ravagings. Deepens the dusk 

On westward mountains black with olden crime 

And steeped in blood spilled in the blessed name 

Of him the Roman soldiers crucified — 

The Prince of Peace. Deepens the dusk, and all 

The nearer landscape glimmers into dark. 

And naught shows clear save yonder wayside cross 

Against the lurid west whose dying gleam 

Of ghastly sunlight frights the brooding soul. 

Dear country mine ! far in that viewless west, 
And ocean-warded, strife thou too hast known ; 
But may thy sun hereafter bloodless shine. 
And may thy way be onward without wrath, 
And upward on no carcass of the slain; 
And if thou smitest, let it be for peace 
And justice — not in hate, or pride, or lust 
Of empire. May'st thou ever be, O land ! 
Noble and pure as thou art free and strong: 
So shalt thou lift a light for all the world 
And for all time, and bring the Age of Peace. 

St.-Remy de Provence, January, 1896. 



HOW TO THE SINGER COMES THE SONG 253 



PART II 

"THE POET'S DAY" 

The poet's day is different from another, 

Tho' he doth count each man his own heart's brother. 

So crystal-clear the air that he looks through, 

It gives each color an intenser hue; 

Each bush doth burn, and every flower flame; 

The stars are sighing; silence breathes a name. 

The world wherein he wanders, dreams, and sings 

Thrills with the beating of invisible wings; 

And all day long he hears from hidden birds 

The low, melodious pour of musicked words. 

^'HOW TO THE SINGER COMES THE 
SONG?" 



How to the singer comes the song? 

At times a joy, alone ; 

A wordless tone 

Caught from the crystal gleam of ice-bound trees; 

Or from the violet-perfumed breeze; 

Or the sharp smell of seas 

In sunlight glittering many an emerald mile; 

Or the keen memory of a love-lit smile. 

II 

Thus to the singer comes the song: 

Gazing at crimson skies 

Where burns and dies 

On day's wide hearth the calm celestial fire, 

The poet with a wild desire 



254 IN PALESTINE 

Strikes the impassioned lyre, 

Takes into tuned sound the flaming sight 

And ushers with new song the ancient night. 

Ill 

How to the singer comes the song? 

Bowed down by ill and sorrow 

On every morrow — 

The unworded pain breaks forth in heavenly singing; 

Not all too late dear solace bringing 

To broken spirits winging 

Through mortal anguish to the unknown rest — 

A lyric balm for every wounded breast. 

IV 

How to the singer comes the song? 

How to the summer fields 

Come flowers? How yields 

Darkness to happy dawn ? How doth the night 

Bring stars? O, how do love and light 

Leap at the sound and sight 

Of her who makes this dark world seem less wrong — 

Life of his life, and soul of all his song! 

"LIKE THE BRIGHT PICTURE » 

Like the bright picture ere the lamp is lit, 

Or silent page whereon keen notes are writ; 

So was my love, all vacant, all unsaid. 

Ere she the lamp did light, ere she the music read. 

REMEMBRANCE OF BEAUTY 

Love's look finds loveliness in all the world : 
Ah, who shall say — This, this is loveliest ! 



MUSIC IN SOLITUDE 255 

Forgetting that pure beauty is impearled 
A thousand perfect ways, and none is best. 

Sometimes I deem that dawn upon the ocean 
Thrills deeper than all else; but, sudden, there, 
With serpent gleam and hue, and fixed motion, 
Niagara curves its scimitar in air. 

So when I dream of sunset, oft I gaze 
Again from Bellosguardo's misty hight, 
Or memory ends once more one day of days — 

Carrara's mountains purpling into night. 
There is no loveliest, dear Love, but thee — 
Through whom all loveliness I breathe and see. 

MUSIC IN SOLITUDE 



In this valley far and lonely 
Birds sang only, 
And the brook, 
And the rain upon the leaves; 
And all night long beneath the eaves 
(While with soft breathings slept the housed cattle) 
The hived bees 

Made music like the murmuring seas; 
From lichened wall, from many a leafy nook, 
The chipmunk sounded shrill his tiny rattle; 
Through the warm day boomed low the droning flies, 
And the huge mountain shook 
With the organ of the skies. 

II 

Dear these songs unto my heart; 
But the spirit longs for art, 
Longs for music that is born 



256 IN PALESTINE 

Of the human soul forlorn, 

Or the beating heart of pleasure. 

Thou, sweet girl, didst bring this boon 

Without stint or measure! 

Many a tune 

From the masters of all time 

In my waiting heart made rhyme. 

Ill 

As the rain on parched meadows, 
As cool shadows 
FalHng from the sultry sky. 
As loved memories die, 
But Hve again when a well-tuned voice 
Makes with old joy the grieved heart rejoice, 
So came once more with thy clear touch 
The melodies I love — 
Ah, not too much. 

But all earth's natural songs far, far above ! 
For they are nature felt, and living. 
And human, and impassioned; 
And they full well are fashioned 
To bring to sound and sense the eternal striving, 
The inner soul of the inexpressive world, 
The meaning furled 
Deep at the heart of all — 
The thought that mortals name divine. 
Whereof all beauty is the sign, 
That comes, — ah ! surely comes, — at music's solemn call. 

"A POWER THERE IS" 

A POWER there is that trembles through the earth; 
It lives in nature's mirth. 



THE 'CELLO 257 

Making that fearful as the touch of pain ; 

It strikes the sunlit plain, 

And harvests flash, or bend with rushing rain ; 

It is not far when tempests make their moan, 

And lightnings leap, and bursts the thunder-stone. 

It comes in morning's beam of living light, 

And the imperial night 

Knows it, and all its company of stars. 

And the auroral bars. 

Through nature all, the subtile current thrills; 

It built in flood and fire the crystal hills; 

It molds the flowers, 

And all the branched forests that abide 

Forever on the teeming mountain-side. 

It lives where music times the soft, processional hours; 

And where on that lone hill of art 

Proud Phidias carved in stone his lyric heart; 

And where wild battle is, and where 

Glad lovers breathe in starry night the quivering air. 

THE SONG'S ANSWER 

Me mystic? Have your way! 

But sing me, if ye may; — 
Then shall ye know the power 
Of the seed's thought of the flower, 

Of the dawn's thought of the day. 

THE 'CELLO 

When late I heard the trembling 'cello play, 
In every face I read sad memories 
That from dark, secret chambers where they lay 
Rose, and looked forth from melancholy eyes. 



258 IN PALESTINE 

So every mournful thought found there a tone 

To match despondence; sorrow knew its mate; 

111 fortune sighed, and mute despair made moan; 

And one deep chord gave answer, " Late, — too late." 
Then ceased the quivering strain, and swift returned 

Into its depths the secret of each heart; 

Each face took on its mask, where lately burned 
A spirit charmed to sight by music's art; 

But unto one who caught that inner flame 

No face of all can ever seem the same. 

THE VALLEY ROAD 

By this road have past 

Hope and Joy adance; 
And one at dark fled fast, 

Quick breath, and look askance; 
And in this dust have dropt 
Tears that never stopt. 

Childhood, caught by flowers, 

Cannot choose but dally; 
Slowly through the hours 

Age creeps down the valley; 
Only Youth goes swift — 
Eager, and head alift. 

Summer, and the night. 
Calm and cloudless moon. 

And lo! a path of light! 

Heaven would come too soon 

To lovers wandering slowly 

Through the starlight holy. 



HAWTHORNE IN BERKSHIRE 259 

And by this road was borne, — 

Betwixt sweet banks of fern, 
And willow rows, and corn, — 

He, who will return 
Not, tho' others may. 
The old, familiar way. 

Two streams within these walls 

For ever and ever flow; 
Back and forth the current falls, 

The long processions go; 
A hundred years have flown, 
i The human tides pour on — 

And shall, when you and I 

Pass no more again. 
Beneath the bending sky 

Shall be no lack of men; 
Never the road run bare, 
Tho' other feet may fare. 

HAWTHORNE IN BERKSHIRE 

Mountains and valleys! dear ye are to me: 

Your streams wild-wandering, ever-tranquil lakes, 
And forests that make murmur like the sea; 
And this keen air that from the hurt soul takes 

Its pain and languor. — Doubly dear ye are 
For many a lofty memory that throws 
A splendor on these hights. — 'Neath yon low star, 
That like a dewdrop melts in heaven's rose. 

Dwelt once a starry spirit; there he smote 
Life from the living hills; a little while 
He rested from the raging of the world. 



26o IN PALESTINE 

This Brook of Shadows, whose dark waters purled 
Solace to his deep mind, it felt his smile — 
Haunted, and melancholy, and remote. 

LATE SUMMER 

Tho' summer days are all too fleet, 
Not yet the year is touched with cold; 

Through the long billows of the wheat 
The green is lingering in the gold. 

. The birds that thrilled the April copse. 
Ah! some have flown on silent wings; 
Yet one sweet music never stops: 
The constant vireo sings and sings. 

AN HOUR IN A STUDIO 

Each picture was a painted memory 
Of the far plains he loved, and of their life, — 
Weird, mystical, dark, inarticulate, — 
And cities hidden high against the blue, 
Whose sky-hung steps one Indian could guard. 
The enchanted Mesa there its fated wall 
Lifted, and all its story lived again — 
How, in the happy planting time, the strong 
Went down to push the seeds into the sand. 
Leaving the old and sick. Then reeled the world 
And toppled to the plain the perilous path. 
Death climbed another way to them who stayed. 
He showed us pictured thirst, a dreadful sight; 
And many tales he told that might have come, 
Brought by some planet- wanderer — fresh from Mars, 
Or from the silver deserts of the moon. 



A SONG OF THE ROAD 26 1 

But I remember better than all else 
One night he told of in that land of fright — 
The love-songs swarthy men sang to their herds 
On the high plains to keep the beasts in heart; 
Piercing the silence one keen tenor voice 
Singing "Ai nostri monti" clear and high: 
Instead of stakes and fences round about 
They circled them with music in the night. 

ILLUSION 

What strange, fond trick is this mine eyes are playing! 
I know 'tis but the visioning mind perplexes, — 
The inward sight the outer sense betraying, — 
Yet the sweet lie the spirit wounds and vexes: 

As at still midnight pondering here, and reading, 
Right on the book's white page, and 'twixt the lines. 
And wreathing through the words, and quick receding, 
Only to come again (as 'mid the vines 

The dryads flash and hide), white arms are gleaming, 
A light hand hovers, curved lips are red, 
Locks in a warm and soundless wind are streaming 

Across the image of one glorious head; 

No more, — no more, — shut now the volume lies 
On that swift, piercing look, those haunting eyes. 

A SONG OF THE ROAD 

Speed, speed, speed 
Through the day, through the night! 
Cities are beads on the thread of our flight; 
Peaks melt in peaks and are lost in the air. 
Speed, speed, speed — 

But, O, the dearth of it, 

Thou not there! 



262 IN PALESTINE 

Every journey is good if love be the goal of it. 
What's all the world if love's not the soul of it; 

What were the worth of it — 

Thou not there! 

"NOT HERE" 



Not here, but somewhere, so men say, 

More bright the day. 

And the blue sky 

More nigh; 

Somewhere, afar, the bird of dawn sings sweeter; 

Somewhere completer 

The round of hopes and heart -beats that make life 

More than a bootless strife. 

u 

But, ah! there be that know 

Where joy alone doth grow. 

Led by one true star, 

The journey is not far. 

'T is in a garden in no distant land, 

High-walled on every hand; 

And the key thereof 

Is love. 

"'NO, NO,' SHE SAID" 

"No, no," she said; 
"I may not wed; 

If say I must — nay must I say; 

I cannot stay; 

Nay, nay, I needs must flout thee!" 



A SOUL LOST, AND FOUND 263 

He turned about; 
His life went out; 
"If go I must, so must I go!" 
Cried she — " No, no ; 
Ah, what were life without thee ! " 

A SOUL LOST, AND FOUND 



Lo ! here another 
Soul has gone down. 
Hope led each morrow; 
Honor was all; 
Faith had no fall; 
Fortune no frown. 
Brother by brother 
Bowed to each sorrow. 
None had lost heart; 
Life was love, life was art. 

II 

We could but follow ! 

Quenchless his fire; 

The mightier the burden 

The stronger his soul, 

The higher the goal. 

Now see the mire 

Soil him and swallow! 

Heaven! what guerdon 

Worth such a cost! 

Love, art, life — lost, all lost. 

Ill 

Down to the pallid 
Figure of death 



264 IN PALESTINE 

Love's face is pressing; 

Listens and waits, 

Beseeching the Fates 

For heart-beat and breath — 

Sign clear and vaHd, 

Life still confessing. 

Dead! He is dead! 

All is lost ! — He has fled. 

IV 

Behold now, a moving, 

A flutter of life ! 

Forth from the starkness, 

Horror, and slime, 

See, he doth climb. 

With himself is the strife; 

Back to the loving 

From mire and the darkness, 

Back to the sun! 

He has fought — he has won. 

"THIS HOUR MY HEART WENT FORTH, AS 
IN OLD DAYS" 

This hour my heart went forth, as in old days. 
To one I loved, forgetting she was dead — 
So fluttered back the message, like the dove 
That found no rest in all the weltering world. 
Is it then so — all blankness and black void. 
No welcome, no response, no voice, no sign? 
Ah, Heaven ! let us be foolish — give us faith 
In what is not; cheat us a little longer; 
Comfort us mortals with envisioned forms; 
Let us, tho' but in dreams, see spirits near, 



EVEN WHEN JOY IS NEAR 265 

And touch the draperies of imagined shapes 
That hold the souls we love — that have gone forth 
Into the land of shadows, but still live 
In memor}^ O, most dear! Beguile our lives 
With dim, half-fashioned phantoms of dead hours, 
Lest the long way grow hateful; give us faith 
Unreasoned, vague, unsubstanced, but still faith; 
For faith is hope, and hope alone is life. 

"EVEN WHEN JOY IS NEAR" 

Even when joy is near 
These ghosts of banished thoughts do haunt the mind; 
The awful void of space wherein our earth, 
An atom in the unending whirl of stars, 
Circles, all helpless, to a nameless doom; 
The swift, indififerent marshaling of fate 
Whereby the world moves on, rewarding vice 
And punishing angelic innocence 
As 't were the crime of crimes; the brute, dull, slow 
Persistence in the stifled mind of man 
Of forces that drive all his being back 
Into the slime; the silent cruelty 
Of nature, that doth crush the unseen soul 
Hidden within its sensitive shell of flesh; 
The anguish and the sorrow of all time, — 
These are forever with me, — but grow dim 
When I remember my sweet mother's face. 
Somewhere, at heart of all, the right must reign 
If in the garden of the infinite 
Such loveliness be brought to perfect bloom. 



266 IN PALESTINE 



RESURRECTION 



Back to my body came I in the gray of the dawning, 
Back to my bed in the mold, 'neath the sod and the 

blossoms ; 
Not strange seemed my natural couch, not new, not 

afflicting; 
But strange now, and new, and afflicting my natural body, 
Alien long while my soul took the wings of the morning. 
I lifted my hands to the light — then swiftly I followed, 
With fingers that carefully prest, the curve of the 

muscles ; 
All was familiar ; this was the frame I had nurtured, 
I had loved as a man loves the body so long his com- 
panion ; 
Again was I 'ware of the brow where the dew of sweet 

kisses 
Fell, ere forth went the stripling to life and the shudder 
Of battle ; — again from the mirror of waters the features 
Not unloved of dear comrades looked forth. I beheld in 

amazement 
The bodily presence so long laid aside and forgotten; 
Overwhelmed was my soul with its shackles; I grieved, 

I lamented 
As a prisoner dragged back to his cell, as an eagle re- 
captured. 

"AS SOARS THE EAGLE" 

As soars the eagle, intimate of light, 
Fear not the face of the sun; 
Nor all the blasts of earth. 
Child of Him, the untrembling One, 
O, prove thee worthy of thy birth! 



ROBERT GOULD SHAW 267 

Let no ill betray thee! 
Let no death dismay thee! 

The eagle seeks the sky, 
Nor fears the infinite light; 
Thus, soul of mine, escape the night 
And 'gainst the morning fly! 



PART III 
ROBERT GOULD SHAW 

(the monument by AUGUSTUS SAINT-GAUDENS) 
I 

FiXT in one desire, 

Thrilled by one fierce fire, 

Marching men and horse, 

And he the youthful rider — one soul, one aim, one force. 

II 

Onward he doth press; 

Moving, tho' motionless; 

Resolute, intent. 

As on some mighty errand the willing youth were bent. 

in 

Onward, tho' he hears 
Father's, sisters' tears; 
Onward, tho' before him 

— Grief more near, more dear — the breaking heart that 
bore him. 

IV 
Onward, tho' he leaves 
One who lonely grieves; 



268 IN PALESTINE 

O, keep him, Fate! from harm. 

For on his dewy lips the bridal kiss is warm. 



What doth he behold 
Making the boy so bold? 
Speak with whispering breath ! 

O Fate, O Fame, O radiant soul in love with glorious 
Death! 

VI 

Eyes that forward peer — 
Why have they no fear? 
Because, through blood and blight, 
They see the golden morning burst and bring the living 
light; 

VII 

See War the fetters strike 
From white and black alike; 
See, past the pain and scorn, 

A nation saved, a race redeemed, and freedom newly 
born; 

VIII 

See, in days to come, — 

When silent War's loud drum, 

Ere civic wrong shall cease, — 

Heroes as pure and brave arise on battlefields of peace. 

"THE NORTH STAR DRAWS THE HERO" 

(to h. n. g.) 

The North Star draws the hero; he abides 

Stedfast tho' death defends the unending quest. 

But, ah, more faithful still the love that hides 
In woman's empty arms and aching breast ! 



SCORN 269 

GLAVE 

This day I read in the sad scholar's page 
That the old earth is withered and undone; 
That faith and great emprize beneath the sun 
Are vain and empty in our doting age; 

'T were best to calm the spirit's noble rage, 
To live in dreams, and all high passion shun. 
While round and round the aimless seasons run — 
Pleasured alone with dead art's heritage. 

Then, as I read, outshone thy face of youth, 
Hero and martyr of humanity. 
Dead yesterday on Afric's shore of doom ! 

Ah, no; Faith, Courage fail not, while lives Truth, 
While Pity lives, while man for man can die, 
And deeds of glory light the dark world's gloom. 

OF HENRY GEORGE 

WHO DIED FIGHTING AGAINST POLITICAL TYRANNY 
AND CORRUPTION 

Now is the city great! That deep- voiced bell 
Tolls for a martyred hero. Such is he 

Who loved her, strove for her, and nobly fell. 
His fire be ours — the passion to be free. 
New York, 1897. 

SCORN 

Who are the men that good men most despise? 
Not they who, ill begot and spawned in shame, 
Riot and rob, or rot before men's eyes, — 
Who basely live, and dying leave no name. 

These are the piteous refuse of mankind, 

Fatal the ascendant star when they were born, 



270 IN PALESTINE 

Distort in body, starved in soul and mind; 
Ah, not for them the good man's bitter scorn ! 

He, only, is the despicable one 

Who lightly sells his honor as a shield 

For fawning knaves, to hide them from the sun ; 

Too nice for crime, yet, coward, he doth yield 
For crime a shelter. Swift to Paradise 
The contrite thief, not Judas with his price ! 

THE HEROIC AGE 

He speaks not well who doth his time deplore, 
Naming it new and little and obscure, 
Ignoble and unfit for lofty deeds. 
All times were modern in the time of them. 
And this no more than others. Do thy part 
Here in the living day, as did the great 
Who made old days immortal ! So shall men, 
Gazing long back to this far-looming hour, 
Say: "Then the time when men were truly men: 
Tho' wars grew less, their spirits met the test 
Of new conditions; conquering civic wrong; 
Saving the state anew by virtuous lives; 
Guarding the country's honor as their own, 
And their own as their country's and their sons': 
Proclaiming service the one test of worth; 
Defying leagued fraud with single truth ; 
Knights of the spirit; warriors in the cause 
Of justice absolute 'twixt man and man ; 
Not fearing loss; and daring to be pure. 
When error through the land raged like a pest 
They calmed the madness caught from mind to mind 
By wisdom drawn from eld, and counsel sane; 
And as the martyrs of the ancient world 



THE SWORD OF THE SPIRIT 271 

Gave Death for man, so nobly gave they Life: 
Those the great days, and that the heroic age." 
Athens, 1896. 

THE SWORD OF THE SPIRIT 

(IN MEMORY OF JOE EVANS) 

Too much of praise for the quick, pitiless blow ! 
Justice doth lean on strength, full well we know; 
But the sharp, glittering sword that strikes for right 
Takes fame too easily. Thank Heaven for might, 
Which is Heaven's servant, oft! Yet he's not man 
Who, when the heart's afire, no brave deed can. 
Praise thou the clencht fist that, when blood is hot, 
On itself tightens, but descendeth not. 
Ay, praise the sword undrawn, the bolt unsped, 
The rage supprest till the true word is said. 
Might of the spirit, this shalt thou extol. 
And holy weakness of the conquering soul. 

And on this day, when one well loved has past 
From suffering to the unknown peace, at last, 
Would I might praise, as nobly as I ought. 
The hero-soldier who no battle fought — 
Or, rather, one who, facing fate's worst frown. 
The spirit's sword but with his life laid down. 
The soul that from that body, bent and frail. 
Peered out, did at no earthly terror quail. 
To face an army he was brave enough; 
Martyrs and conquerors are of that stuff. 
And in the civic conflict that was waged 
Year after year, his knightly spirit raged; 
He could not bear his country should have blame. 
So this slight warrior did the mighty shame. 



272 IN PALESTINE 

Yet Beauty was his passion, and the art 

To paint it — that it might not all depart. 

He loved the gentlest things; there was a grace 

In his sad look surpassing many a face 

More beautiful. Ah, back, ye bitter tears! 

He, lover of light and gladness, all these years 

Fighting twin demons of keen pain and doom; 

He, of such humor that the very tomb 

Might snatch a brightness from his presence there ! 

But no; not bright the tomb. We, in despair, 

Seek through the world again a charm like this — 

That which our friend has taken we shall forever miss. 

April, 1898. 

"THROUGH ALL THE CUNNING AGES'' 

Through all the cunning ages 
Mankind hath made for man 

From out his loves and rages 
A god to bless and ban. 

When he his foe despises 

This god he calls to curse; 
And would he win earth's prizes 

His praise doth man rehearse. 

So, when he craves the guerdon 

Of others' land and pelf. 
He flings the blame and burden 

On this shadow of himself. 

If, spite of all their ranting. 

There reigns a God indeed, 
How well He hates the canting 
That framed their sordid creed! 



WHEN WITH THEm COUNTRY'S ANGER 273 

"Lay not to me your hollow 

And broken words of faith — 
To sin that good may follow 
No law of mine," He saith. 

"If, 'twixt your tribes and nations, 
There lives no law but might, 
Not myriad incantations 
Can make your evil right. 

"Ye call me ' God of battle ' ; 
I weary while ye slay. 
Are ye my horned cattle 
To find no better wav?" 



ONE COUNTRY — ONE SACRIFICE 

(ensign worth BAGLEY, may II, 1898) 

In one rich drop of blood, ah, what a sea 

Of healing! Thou, sweet boy, wert first to fall 
In our new war; and thou wert Southron all! 

There is no North, no South, remembering thee. 

"WHEN WITH THEIR COUNTRY'S ANGER" 

When with their country's ^nger 

They flame into the fight, — 
On sea, in treacherous forest, 

To strike with main and might, — 

He shows the gentlest mercy 
Who rains the deadliest blows; 

Then quick war's hell is ended, 
And home the hero goes. 



274 IN PALESTINE 

What stays the noblest memory 
For all his years to keep? 

Not of the foemen slaughtered, 
But rescued from the deep! 

Rescued with peerless daring! 

O, none shall forget that sight, 
When the unaimed cannon thundered 

In the ghastly after-fight. 

And, now, in the breast of the hero 
There blooms a strange, new flower, 

A blood-red, fragrant blossom 
Sown in the battle-hour. 

'T is not the Love of Comrades, — 
That flower forever blows, — 

But the brave man's Love of Courage, 
The Love of Comrade-Foes. 

For since the beginning of battles 
On the land and on the wave. 

Heroes have answered to heroes, 
The brave have honored the brave. 



A VISION 

All round the glimmering circuit of the isle 
Audibly pulsed the ocean. In the dark 
Of the thick wood a voice not of its own 
Might come to sharpened ears ; a sound supprest, 
The rustling of an armed multitude 
Who toss in sleep, or, wakening, watch for death. 
Beneath the tropic stars that in strange skies 
Drew close and glittered large, I saw in dream 
A Soul pass hoveringly. 



THE WORD OF TPIE WHITE CZAR 275 

Then came I near 
And questioned of that Ghost, who answer made 
Like a deep, murmuring wind that slowly draws 
Through dim memorial aisles of ancient time: — 

"I am the mother of men, and from my womb 

Came all the dead and living. I am curst 

With memory, with knowledge of what is, 

And what shall be; yet, verily, am I blesf 

With these three knowledges, — my children I 

Have seen these myriad years grow, age by age, 

More wise, more just, more joyous, yet have I 

Seen mutual slaughter sow the earth with tears. 

In this New World here had I hoped my children 

Would learn to unlearn the path mankind had climbed 

Over its slain to happiness and power; 

For soon or late I know that boon shall come. 

And in the wars of peace the race shall wax 

Manlier, purer, gentler, and more wise. 

" But now again the sacred truce is broken. 
And bleeds this breast at every wound and sigh, 
And aches my mother-heart with the new pain 
Of mortal mothers comfortless forever." 

Then past the Spirit from my dream at dawn; 
I woke into another day of war 
With news of splendid deeds, and victory — 
Yet still I heard that brooding shade lament. 



THE WORD OF THE WHITE CZAR 

This day, a strange and beautiful word was spoken, — 
Not with the voice of a child, nor the voice of a woman, 
Nor yet with the voice of a poet, the melody sounded, — 



276 IN PALESTINE 

Forth from the lips of a warrior, girt for the battle, 
Breathed this word of words o'er a world astonished. 



Prisoners returning from war, and conquering armies, 
Navies flusht with new and amazing victory, 
Heard the message, so strange, so high, so entrancing, 
And soldiers dying of wounds or the wasting of fever. 
In tropic islands it sounded, through wrecks of cities; 
O'er burning plains where warlike death was in wait- 
ing; 
Armies and navies confronting, in watchful silence, 
Heard it and wondered; statesmen stopt their debates. 
And turning their eyes toward the voice, with its mean- 
ing unlooked for. 
Listened and smiled with the smile and the sneer of the 

cynic. 
But the mothers of youths who had died of their wounds 

and of fever, 
And the poor crusht down by the price of the glory of 

battle 
And the weight of the wars that have been, and that yet 

are preparing. 
They from their burdens looked up and uttered their 

blessing : 
For Peace, — the Peace of God, — was the warrior's 
prayer ! 

And I, who heard, I saw in a waking vision 

An image familiar long to the hearts of mortals, 

A face of trouble, a brow celestial, yet human — 

In a dream of the day, I saw that suffering spirit, 

Him accustomed to labor, to anguish not alien, 

Still mourning for men alone in the valley of shadows; — 

I dreamed that he lifted that face of infinite sorrow. 



A SONG FOR DOROTHEA, ACROSS THE SEA 277 

And barkened — when lo ! a light in those eyes of sad- 
ness 

Came sudden as day that breaks from the mountains of 
Moab. 



PART IV 

A SONG FOR DOROTHEA, ACROSS THE 
SEA 

A SONG for you, my dading, 

For your own, dear, only sake. 
You bid me sing — so does the spring 

Bid the birds awake, 

And quick with molten music the dewy branches quake. 

A song for you, my darling. 

To follow you all the day; 
And in sweet sleep the song shall keep 

Singing along the way, 

Through dreamland's silver meadows with golden 
lilies gay. 

A song for you, my darling, 

For those deep and darkling eyes. 
That stedfast shine as the stars divine 

Bright in the midnight skies, 

When the winds blow the clouds from heaven, and we 
gaze with a glad surprise. 

A song for you, my darling, 

A song for that faithful heart 
That as true abides as the throbbing tides, 

Tho' half a world apart — 

So far away is the girl I sing, with only a lover's art. 



278 IN PALESTINE 



A BLIND POET 



Call him not blind 

Whose keen, anointed sight, 

Pierced every secret of the heart, the mind, 

The day, the night. 



ON A WOMAN SEEN UPON THE STAGE 

("TESS," as played by MRS. fiske) 

Alas, poor, fated, passionate, shivering thing! 
So through brief life some dagger-haunted king 
Wears a bright sorrow. Thus her life rehearse: 
She was a woman; this her crown, her curse. 



OF ONE WHO NEITHER SEES NOR HEARS 

(HELEN KELLER) 

She lives in light, not shadow; 

Not silence, but the sound 
Which thrills the stars of heaven 

And trembles from the ground. 

She breathes a finer ether. 

Beholds a keener sun; 
In her supernal being 

Music and light are one. 

Unknown the subtile senses 
That lead her through the day; 

Love, light, and song and color 
Come by another way. 



ESPOUSALS OF JEANNE ROUMANILLE 279 

Sight brings she to the seeing, 

New song to those that hear; 
Her braver spirit sounding 

Where mortals fail and fear. 

She at the heart of being 

Serene and glad doth dwell; 
Spirit with scarce a veil of flesh; 

A soul made visible. 

Or is it only a lovely girl 

With flowers at her maiden breast? 
— Helen, here is a book of song 

From the poet who loves you best. 



FOR THE ESPOUSALS OF JEANNE 
ROUMANILLE, OF AVIGNON 

While joy-bells are ringing 
And the high Fates meet thee, 

Child of the South, and of singing. 
Singing I greet thee. 

In thy chaplet one flower 

From a far world! Wilt w^ear it? 

Rich tho' thy land, and this hour, 
Thou may'st not forbear it; 

Thou wilt welcome and win it; 

It will breathe on, caress thee; 
For the fame of thy father is in it; 

His lover doth bless thee! 

His lover — the lover of thee, O Provence ; 

Thy blue skies, thy gray mountains; 
The heart-beat of Freedom and France 

Shakes thy rivers and fountains, 



28o IN PALESTINE 

And makes thee a dream and a passion 

In the souls of all poets forever, 
While from thy fire thou dost fashion 

Beauty and music and art that shall perish, O, never! 



TO MARIE JOSEPHINE GIRARD, QUEEN OF 
THE FELIBRES 

ON HER WEDDING-DAY 

Queens have there been of many a fair domain 

Of arts, of hearts, of lands. 

Thy sovereignty a threefold realm commands 
Who o'er Provence, and Poetry, and Love dost reign. 



INSCRIPTION FOR A TOWER IN FLORENCE 
(written for the chatelaine) 

I 

Four-walled is my tower: 

The first wall is for the dawn that comes from Vallom- 

brosa, 
The second wall is for the day that fills with soft fire the 

green vase of Tuscany, 
The third is for the evening twilight that darkens from 

the Valley of the Arno, 
The fourth is for the night and the stars of night. 

II 

Four- walled is my tower: 

One wall is for the South and the sun, 

One is for the West and for memory, 



WITH A VOLUME OF DANTE 28 1 

One is for the North and the star that never sets, 
And one is for the East and a faith that fares beyond 
the stars. 

Ill 

Four- walled is my tower: 
One wall is for the Spring and for Hope, 
One is for Summer and for Love, 
One is for Autumn and the Harvest, 
One is for Winter and for Waiting. 

IV 

Four- walled is my tower: 

One is for Childhood and the Innocence of Life, 

The second is for Youth and the Joy of Life, 

The third is for Manhood and the Fullness of Life, 

The fourth is for Old Age and the Wisdom of Life. 



Four- walled is my tower: 

A Rock for Strength, 

A Hight for Seeing, 

A Beacon for the Stranger, 

And a Hearth for Friendship. 

Four-walled is my tower 

On the Hill of Bellosguardo. 

WITH A VOLUME OF DANTE 

O THOU whom Virgil and thy Beatrice 

Through life and death, Hell, Purgatory, Heaven, 

Led upward into unimagined light — 

Lead thou this soul the way thou, too, didst go 

Unto the Light that lights the eternal stars! 



POEMS AND INSCRIPTIONS 



POEMS 



AUTUMN AT FOUR-BROOKS FARM 

No song-bird, singing, soaring, 

But the brooks are up and roaring! 

Along the lane one lonely tree 

Starts a sound like a storm at sea. 

The round, black clouds pursue 

Across the gulfs of blue; 

So fast they fly the mountain crest 

Reels backward to the blowing west. 

Shadow and sun rush on together 

Across the hills in the gusty weather. 

And leaves like flocks of golden birds 

Take flight above the huddling herds. 

Hark, hark that bell-like baying ! — 

The wily fox with the hound is playing; 

All is motion, and air, and strife; 

Down the valley the floods are pouring; 

This is Autumn, O, this is life; 

No song-bird sings, but the hawks are soaring, 

And the brooks are up and roaring! 

INDOORS IN EARLY SPRING 

I 

In the old farm-house living-room 

Four shrunken doors shut out the gloom ; 

Two curtained windows hide night's pall; 



286 POEMS AND INSCRIPTIONS 

These openings six in the ancient wall 

Let in the breeze in seams. 

The air in spark-lit, pouring streams 

From hearth to heaven leaps. 

Against the black of the chimney-soot 

The forked flames upshoot, 

And the blaze a-roaring keeps. 

II 

Every log is a separate flute; 

And every chink a singing wire 

Of some unseen ^olian lyre 

Tuned to the music of the fire. 

The little tinkhng sounds; the low, 

Sweet whistlings of the bubbling wood; 

The thundering bass of winds that blow 

In leafless maples by the road — 

All make a music in the mind; 

While, book in hand, in musing mood, — 

My body here, my soul in flight, — 

Through the true poet's world I wind, 

And there a spirit-music find 

That mixes with the sounding night. 

THE NIGHT PASTURE 



In a starry night of June, before the moon had come 
over into our valley from the high valley beyond. 

Up the winding mountain-lane I wandered, and, stop- 
ping, leaned on the bars, and listened; 

And I heard the little brook sliding from stone to 
stone; and I heard the sound of the bells as the cows 
moved — heavily, slowly, 



THE NIGHT PASTURE 287 

In various keys, deep, or like sleigh-bells tinkling, 
sounded the chiming cow-bells — 

Starting and stilling, irregular; near or far away in 
the dusk — 

And the nearer cows I heard chewing the cud, and 
breathing warm on the cool air of the mountain slope 

In the night pasture. 

II 

Terrace on terrace rises the farm, from meadow and 
winding river to forest of chestnut and pine; 

There by the high-road, among the embowering maples, 
nestles the ancient homestead; 

From each new point of vantage lovelier seems the 
valley, and the hill-framed sunset ever more and more 
moving and glorious; 

But when in the thunderous city I think of the moun- 
tain farm, nothing so sweet of remembrance, — holding 
me as in a dream, — 

As the silver note of the unseen brook, and the clang- 
ing of the .cow-bells fitfully in the dark, and the deep 
breathing of the cows 

In the night pasture. 

Ill 

Then I think, not of myself — but an image comes to 
me of one who has past. 

Of an old man bent with labor; 

He, like his father before him, for many and many a 
year, 

When the cows down the mountains have trudged in 
the summer evening, and after the evening milking, 

Night after night, and year after year, back up the 
lane he has driven them, while the shepherd-dog leaped 
and barked — 



288 POEMS AND INSCRIPTIONS 

Back up the lane, and past the orchard, and through 
the bars 

Into the night pasture. 

IV 

There in the twilight I see him stand: 
He listens to the sounds of the field and the forest, 
On his brow strikes the cool mountain air; 
Hard is the old man's life and full indeed of sorrow — 
But now, for a moment, respite from labor, in the 
pause 'twixt day and night ! 

Perhaps to his heart comes a sense of the beauty that 
fills all this exquisite valley — 

A sense of peace and of rest; a thought of the long 
and toilless night that comes to all, 

As he leans on the bars and listens, and hears the deep- 
breathed cows, and the scattered sound of the bells 
In the night pasture. 

A LETTER FROM THE FARM 

Tell you the news 
From Four-Brooks Farm? 
Well, 

But there is news to tell, 
As long as my arm ! 
"What! a new she-calf born 
To this world forlorn?" 
Few things are finer 
Than a fine heifer-calf. 
And most things are minor; 
But 't is better by half 
The news that I've got now! 
Such a wonderful lot now 



A LETTER FROM THE FARM 289 

Of heifers, — why, what now 

Such farm news as this! 

You were here, when, what bliss! 

Alpha dropt on our planet. 

And we all ran to scian it: 

How the soft thing, with silk down, 

Had learned to bring milk down 

Without any teaching. 

Example, or preaching! 

Not this is the news 
From Four-Brooks Farm — 
Nor the ice-pond built 
Where Hermit Brook spilt; 
Nor the great pine we found 
Thunder-burst in the middle 
And spread on the ground 
Like the strings of a fiddle; 
Not of this, not of that, — 
Such news now were flat, — 
But something far racier! 
Muir, of Alaska, 
Path-finder, cliff-basker. 
Known of bird, known of deer 
(Grizzlies know him, won't harm), 
John Muir has been here, 
And has hitched to the farm 
A great blanket glacier! 
Don't flout it ! don't doubt it ! 
'T is as sure and as clear 
As if on the rock, 
With chisel and knock, 
A giant of eld 
His message had spelled, 



290 POEMS AND INSCRIPTIONS 

And ten thousand years after 
We read it, — with laughter 
And loyal acclaim, — 
His ancestry, name. 
The work he was doing, 
The place whence he came, 
And the journey pursuing. 

" This giant of eld ! 
See his path," said John Muir, 

"Here it held 
Northwest to southeast; 
Slow and sure. 
Like a king at a feast 
Eating down through the list; 
Inch by inch, crunch by crunch; 
Yonder hollow his lunch, 
Of this valley — one gobble. 
Then he supped light on Cobble! 
This big boulder, he bore it; 
Through eons uncounted 
That range there he mounted. 
He tore it. 

Rock-grinding; strata rending; 
Always pausing; never ending; 
O what a grand rumpus! 
Now, down on your knees," 
Said Muir, "an you please, 
And out with your compass!" 
(By the way — 't was Thoreau's 
As Muir well knows) 
And then, in a trice. 
Where the quartz glistens white, 
Smooth as ice. 
In the clear, slanting light 



STROLLING TOWARD SHOTTERY 291 

The fine striae show, — 
Like arrows they go 
Northwest to southeast, 
Just as John Muir pleased! 

And as he spoke I saw the huge creature glide, 
With speed that scarcely lessened or increased, 
From the far pole to ocean's melting tide. 
Through countless boreal hours 
It moved on its torn pathway deep and wide; 
Its shining bulk I saw 

Crunching the mountain tops with monstrous maw; — 
To make our Four-Brooks Farm with all its flocks and 
flowers. 

SUMMER BEGINS 

The bright sun has been hid so long, 

Such endless rains, such clouds and glooms) 

But now, as with a burst of song. 
The happy Summer morning blooms. 

The brooks are full, it is their youth; 

No hint of shrunken age have they; 
They shout like children, and in truth, 

No human child so careless-gay. 

How fresh the woods, each separate leaf 

Is shining in the joyful sun. 
Strange ! I have half forgotten grief ; 

I think that life has just begun. 

"STROLLING TOWARD SHOTTERY" 

Strolling toward Shottery on one showery day, 
We saw upon the turf beside the path 



292 POEMS AND INSCRIPTIONS 

A clown who, stooping by the pleasant way, 

Rough-cobbled his torn shoes and spoke in feigned 
wrath. 

At first we thought him brain-touched and askew, 

But, as we listened to his shrilling talk, 
We found him prating of some things he knew, 

Tho' others he but guessed; — we halted in our walk. 

His was the wisdom shrewd of roadside men, 

Gathered in wanderings through the country wide; 

He had a cynic wit, and to his ken 
The world wagged wickedly — saved by its humorous 
side. 

Racy his speech and, tho' it bit, good-hearted; 

There was an honest freshness in the tramp; 
We felt his debtor, therefore when we parted 

Some pennies wealthier the philosophic scamp! 

Laughing we followed on to sweet Anne's cot: 
— Perhaps like us her lover left the town ; 

Like us he crossed the pretty pasture lot. 
And met, — and made immortal, — one more Shake- 
speare clown. 

STRATFORD BELLS 

One Sabbath eve, betwixt green Avon's banks. 

In a dream-world we hour by hour did float; 

The ruffling swans moved by in stately ranks; 

With soft, sad eyes the cattle watched our boat. 
We, passionate pilgrims from a far-oflF land, 

Beyond the vexed Bermoothes: O, how dear 



SIR WALTER SCOTT 293 

That strange, sweet picture — by the Enchanter's 

wand 
Familiar to our spirits made, and near! 

But suddenly a rich and resonant sound 
Thrilled from the skies and waters; lo, the chimes 
Of Stratford rang and rang ; the very ground 

Murmured, as with a deep-voiced poet's rhymes; 
Then swift melodious tone on tone was hurled : 
'Twas Shakespeare's music brimmed the trembling 
world. 

IN WORDSWORTH'S ORCHARD 

DOVE COTTAGE 

In Wordsworth's orchard, one sweet summer day, 
Breathless we listened to his thrushes sing; 
We heard the trickling of the little spring 
Beneath the terrace; saw the tender play 

Of breezes 'midst the leaves; scarce could we say 
The well-loved verses whose rich blossoming 
Was on this narrow hillside; strange they ring 
For tears that choke the numbers on their way. 

Then home by winding Rothay did we turn 

While bird, and bloom, and mountain seemed his voice 
Deep sounding to the spiritual ear — 

And this its message : Let love in thee burn, 
Here learn in holy beauty to rejoice. 
Here learn true living, and the song sincere. 

SIR WALTER SCOTT 
I 

Rhymers and writers of our day. 
Too much of melancholy ! 
Give us the old heroic lay; 



294 POEMS AND INSCRIPTIONS 

A whiff of wholesome folly; 
The escapade, the dance; 
A touch of wild romance: 
Wake from this self-conscious fit; 
Give us again Sir Walter's wit; 
His love of earth, of sky, of life; 
His ringing page with humor rife; 
His never- weary pen; 
His love of men ! 

II 

Builder of landscape, who could make 
Turret and tower their stations take 
Brave in the face of the sun; 
Of many a mimic world creator, 
Alive with fight and strenuous fun; 
Of nothing human he the hater. 
Nobly could he plan: 
Master of nature, master of man. 

Ill 

Sometimes I think that He who made us, 
And on this pretty planet laid us, 
Made us to work and play 
Like children in the light of day — 
Not like plodders in the dark, 
Searching with lanterns for some mark 
To find the way. 
After the stroke of pain, 
Up and to work again! 

IV 

Such was his life, without reproach or fear: 
A lonely fight before the last eclipse — 



A DAY IN TUSCANY 295 

A broken heart, a smile upon the lips; 

And, at the end, 

When Heaven bent down and whispered in his ear 

The word God's saints waited and longed to hear, 

I ween he was as quick as they to comprehend; 

And, when he past beyond the goal, 

Entered the gates of pearl no sweeter soul. 

A DAY IN TUSCANY 



I KNEW the Rucellai had choice of villas: 

This day has proved it, this thrice happy day 

Stolen from care, and many a saddened thought. 

Have we not seen, we wanderers from afar, 

Fountained Caneto, standing watch and ward 

Over Bisenzio's lovely, curving vale ! — 

Caneto, olive-cinctured, cypress-crowned, 

And wreathed in vine; Caneto, whose high hall 

Bears record of a proud and noble race, 

Friendly to art and letters (Cimabue 

Be witness paramount; and the brave front 

Of Santa Maria Novella; the Academe 

That in the Garden of the Rucellai 

Relit the Athenian fire!). Yes, Edith dear, 

I love Caneto well, but well I love 

This "Villa of the Little Fields," that hides 

Embowered among its farms; in rose and lilac 

Radiant and scented like an April bride; 

'Mid busy sounds secluded and remote. 

But most I love this tower you call my own, 

This musing tower that wins the soul to song, 

From whose four windows, see! the Apennines 

Make a walled paradise of Tuscany. 



296 POEMS AND INSCRIPTIONS 

n 

Beyond the ilex-dome, against the west, 

The sunset sky was crimson: "Then," you say, 

"Fair is to-morrow, if the sky was red." 

"Fair is to-morrow"? O, to-morrow fair 
That wakes me from this dream? — Here from my 

tower 
One planet marks where Prato lies below. 
And yonder, through the tender gray and green 
Of the high-branching plane-tree, shines a light 
Betwixt the earth and heaven — a lure that means 
Florence, and all its wonder; now, ah, now 
The hour draws nigh when Italy once more 
To me is of the past, a thought, a passion, 
But all ungrasped of sense. 
And what is that our Cosimo has said? 

"To-day the nightingales have come." — Have come? 
And I, tho' listening long, and with my soul, 
I have not heard one tone. 
In the Tower at Campi Bisenzio. 

A SACRED COMEDY IN FLORENCE 

IN WHICH TAKES PART A CERTAIN STATUE ON THE 
FACADE OF THE DUOMO 

Lonely Pope upon his throne. 
Cold in marble, high in air. 
On the Duomo's checkered front — 
Benediction, as is wont. 
Falling from his saintly face 
Down upon the clattering square: 
Falls, to-day, a special grace. 
For, in fact, he 's not alone — 
Solemn Pope upon his throne, 



THE OLD MASTER 297 

White in marble, cold in air ! — 
To those priestly fingers there, 
Lifted o'er the peopled square, 
A purple pigeon sudden flits, 
Lightly 'lights and lingering sits. 
By the Baptistery gates, 
Where I stand, I can but smile, 
Thinking that the potentate's 
Lips are curving, too, the while; 
And I wonder what the bird 
Said that Papa, smiling, heard. 

MICHAEL ANGELO'S AURORA 

THE MEDICI CHAPEL, FLORENCE 

O MAJESTY and loveliness in one! 
Why art thou sorrowful, now night is done ? 
This is the dawn; why doth thy spirit quake? 
O thou who wakenest! is it pain to wake? 

THE OLD MASTER 

Of his dear Lord he painted all the life, 
But not that ancient land, nor the old days; 
Not curious he to seek, through learned strife, 
The look of those far times and unknown ways. 

But in his solemn and long-living art 

Well did he paint that which can never die: 
The life and passion of the human heart. 
Unchanged while sorrowing age on age goes by. 

Beneath his brush his own loved people grew. 
Their rivers and their mountains, saints and lords; 
The dark Italian mothers whom he knew. 



298 POEMS AND INSCRIPTIONS 

The sad-eyed nuns, the warriors with drawn swords; 
And the young Savior, throned at Mary's breast. 
Was but some little child whom he loved best. 

AT LUTHER'S GRAVE 

WITTENBERG 

Here rests the heart whose throbbing shook the earth ! 
High soul of courage, we do owe thee much ; 
Thee and thy warrior comrades, who the worth 
Of freedom proved and put it to the touch ! 

Because, O Luther, thou the truth didst love. 
And spake the truth out, — faced the sceptered lie, — 
E'en we, thy unforgetting heirs, may move 
Fearless, erect, unshackled, 'neath the sky. 

Yet at this shrine who doth forever linger 
Shall know not that true freedom Luther won; 
" Onward," his spirit points, with lifted finger, 
" Onward lies truth ! My work were never done 
If souls by me awakened climbed not higher — 
Ever to seek, and fear not, the celestial fire." 

BEETHOVEN 

VIENNA 

I CAME to a great city. Palaces 

Rose glittering, mile on mile. Here dwells the King, 

The Emperor and King; here lived, here ruled 

How many mountainous far-looming fames; 

Here is the crown of shadowy Charlemagne. 

What housing of what glorious dignities! 

Yet in a narrow street, unfrequented, 

No palace near — one name upon a wall. 

And all these majesties seem small and shrunk : 

For here unto the bitter end abode 



EGYPT 299 

He who from pain wrought noble joy for men; 
He who from silence gave the world to song; 
For in his mind an awful music rose 
As when, in darkness of the under-seas, 
Currents tremendous over currents pour. 
He heard the soundless tone, its voice he was, 
And he of vast humanity the voice, 
And his the empire of the human soul. 

THE DESERT 

Souls live for whom the illimitable sands 

Not lonely are; they see white, phantom hands 

Beckoning in spectral twilights, and they hear 

Voices that come not to another ear. 

The mystic desert calls them, as doth call 

The sea to those who once have known its thrall — 

The desert that (like to the eternal sea) 

Creates a visible infinity; 

There, where the day its quivering fire outpours, 

A silent ocean breaks on silent shores. 

Who would be wise — 

Let him consort with Time 'neath desert skies. 

EGYPT 

I THOUGHT, in Egypt, Death was more than Life, 
It seemed so long; its monuments so great; 
The emptiness of tombs was such high state, — 
No living thought, or power, or potentate 
So glorious seemed, wrapt in such splendid gloom. 
For I perceived that in each ancient tomb, 
Long ages since, dead kings for Death made room. 
Not here the Dead, but Death — alone, supreme : 
In Egypt Death was real — Life a winged Dream. 



300 POEMS AND INSCRIPTIONS 

SYRIA 

I THOUGHT in Syria, Life was more than Death. 

A tomb there was forsaken of its dead, 

But Death filled not the place; here with bowed head 

Worships the world forever at the tread 

Of one who lived, who liveth, and shall live — • 

Whose grave is but a footstep on the sod; 

Men kiss the ground where living feet have trod. 

Here not to Death but Life, they worship give. 

August is Death, but this one tomb is rife 

With a more mighty presence; it is Life. 

THE DEAD POET 

A. H. 

His was the love of art and song, 
And well he loved the flowery way; 

Yet great his wrath at prospered wrong; 
When evil triumphed day by day 
Then plunged he in the fray. 

And when brave innocence went down 
Then did the vanquished find a friend. 

With him went justice through the town ; 
No foeman ever saw him bend; 
He scorn for scorn could send. 

Men said his heritage was lost ; 
For, born to gentler use, his youth 

Was wasted in rude strife; the cost 
Too great, they deemed, altho*, in sooth. 
Through him men learned of Truth. 



WAR 301 

So were his songe but brief and few; 

Yet of some lives they were a part, 
And on some souls they fell like dew; 

Dead — now men say: he gave to art 

The epic of the heart. 

WAR 



Two men on thrones, or crouched behind, 
With cunning words the world would blind. 
With faces grave, averse from spoils, 
They weave their thieving, cynic toils. 
One thing they mean, another speak ; 
Bland phrases utter, tongue in cheek. 
Stale truths turn lies on velvet lips; 
The candid heavens are in eclipse; 
From crooked minds, and hearts all black, 
Comes War upon its flaming track, 
And reeking fiends in happy hell 
Shout, "All is well!" 

n 

Then lives surprise! 
While not a devil dares to shirk, 
But all his hellish malice plies — 
The engels, too, begin their work. 
Now every virtue issues forth 
And busy is from south to north : 
Self-sacrifice, and love, and pity 
Tramp all the rounds in field and city; 
Mercy beyond a price, sweet ruth. 
Courage and comradeship and truth, 



302 POEMS AND INSCRIPTIONS 

And gentlest deed and noblest thought, 
Into the common day are brought. 
Man lives at heaven's gate, and dies 
For fellow-man with joyful cries. 

in 

And all the while hell's imps are free 
To work their will with fearful glee. 
The beast in man anew is born; 
Revenge, and lust, and pride, and scorn, 
And glory false, and hateful hate. 
All join to desecrate the state. 

THE BLAMELESS KNIGHT 

Where led the bright and blameless plume 
We charged the shameless foe; 

Whether to win or lose our doom 
We never cared to know. 

His voice was as a scimitar. 

Superb and sure his stroke; 
And where he came their men-of-war 

In panic fury broke. 

Once more we gathered for the fight 

Against the ranks of shame; 
Again we called the blameless knight 

And cheered him as he came. 

But, God of grace! not with us now 

Our valiant knight doth go : 
A plume of black above his brow — 

He leads the shameless foe ! 



THE TOOL 303 

They are the same, that shameful horde, 

The same their shameless song; 
Beneath his shield they draw the sword 

For rapine and for wrong. 

Fight on ! fight on ! brave comrades all, 

Nor weep the blameless knight; 
They cannot fail, what tho' they fall, 

Who battle for the right. 

One Captain less in our good war, 

But see! a thousand spring 
Intent as never men before 

To strike the Accursed Thing. 

THE DEMAGOGUE 

All mouth, no mind ; a mindless mouth in sooth ; 

He does not bend his strength to seek the truth, 

But, shrewdly guessing what may take the crowd, 

With tragic grimace, this he shouts aloud. 

No true opinion, no fixed faith has he, 

But gravely simulates sincerity. 

His many causes swift resolve to one: 

You find him his own cause when all is done. 

THE TOOL 

The man of brains, of fair repute, and birth, 
Who loves high place above all else of earth; 
Who loves it so, he '11 go without the power 
If he may hold the semblance but an hour ; 
Willing to be some sordid creature's tool 
So he but seem a little while to rule; 
On him even moral pigmies would look down ; 
Were prizes given for shame, he'd wear the crown. 



304 POEMS AND INSCRIPTIONS 

THE NEW POLITICIAN 

While others hedged, or silent lay, 

He to the people spoke all day; 

Ay, and he said precisely what 

He thought; each time he touched the spot. 

"In heaven's name, what does he mean! 
Was ever such blind folly seen!" 
The wag-beard politicians cried: 

" Can no one stop the man ? " they sighed. 

"This 'talking frankly' may be fun, 
But when have such mad tactics won? 
He may be happy, but the cost 
Is ours! The whole election's lost!" 

And still the people at his feet 
Followed and cheered from street to street. 
Truly this ne'er was known before : 
No soldier, sailor, orator, 
No hero home from battle he 
Whom welcoming thousands rush to see; 
But just a man who dared to take 
His stand on justice, make or break; 
'T was all because the people found 
A man by no conventions bound; 
Who sought to heal their black disgrace 
By treating rich and poor the same. 
Giving to crime its ugly name, 
Damning the guilty to their face. 

And when the votes, at last, were read 
Our candidate ran clear ahead! 
This be his glory and renown : 
He told the truth — and took the town. 



SONG 305 

A LADY TO A KNIGHT 

Sir Knight, thou lovest not, 
If thou wouldst be too dear; 

And I less worshipful, I wot. 
If thou couldst kneel so near ! 

So must thy shield of flawless fame 

Shine clear in honor's light; 
Lest I should know a queenly shame 

To find thee less a knight. 

"IS HOPE A PHANTOM?" 

Is Hope a phantom ? Holds the crystal cup 

Sweet madness only — an we drink it up ? 

A respite ere the poor, doomed soul is killed? 

— Then spake one who had loved : " Hope is no lie. 

But real as answered Love, or unfulfilled ; 

Yet were Hope phantom- false, still would I cry, 

' Hail, Thou Bright Poisoner 1 let me drink, and die / ' " 

SONG 

If, lest thy heart betray thee, 
Thou to one lover wouldst not constant be, 
And yet thou couldst love me — 
This boon I pray thee : 
Divide the dark from light, 
Love me by night. 

If thy sweet thought would find me. 
Not through the garish day, O, give it wing: 
In shadows clasp and cling, 



306 POEMS AND INSCRIPTIONS 

And bless and blind me ! 

When stars are still and bright — 

Love me by night. 

In longing dreams I'll name thee; 
In secret hours, when breathes the midnight rose, 
Thy heart in mine shall close, 
Great love shall claim thee: 
O mine in dark and light, 
In day and night! 

MEMORY 

Into this musing, Memory! thou hast brought 

Me, thy true vassal; into this delight 

That is more poignant for the haunting grief; 

And as thou leadest on I follow, follow, 

Down the deep, woody pathway of my dream, 

Feeling the breath of flowers colorless 

And airs that change their seasons as I wander, 

Falling or cool or warm upon the brow. 

The river shimmers 'twixt the shadowy boles; 

Scarce seen the stars for the high, monstrous leaves 

That make a lovers' screen; while the large moon. 

Late risen, sends three beams athwart the path. 

It is not night, nor day, it is the time 

Of the clear spirit's life; the soul's high noon; 

The hour most fit for passion's holy birth. 

O mellow eve, unstartled by a bird! 

O night whose light is deepening up the sky ! 

'T was such a night when one low-murmured word, - 
A word all miracle, — made of my soul 
Naught but a singing rapture. 



JANET 307 

"O, GLORIOUS SABBATH SUN" 

I 

O, GLORIOUS Sabbath sun, thou art 
A balm and blessing to my heart; 
Dark sorrow flies, and in thy shine 
Bursts o'er the world a flood divine. 

n 

So may the light beyond the skies 
Illume and bless my inward eyes, 
That each new day may bring to me 
The splendor of eternity. 

MOTTO FOR A TREE-PLANTING 

Stay as the tree — go as the wind; 
Whate'er thy place, serve God and kind! 

The tree holds commerce with the skies 
Tho' from its place it never flies. 

They serve their God; they do not roam, 
The stormy winds that have no home. 

JANET 

I REMEMBER 

That November 

When the new November child 

On this old world woke and smiled. 

Here 's a woman. 
Sweet and human, 
And they call her Janet, now — 
I can't make it out, I vow. 



308 . POEMS AND INSCRIPTIONS 

It only seems 
One night of dreams; 
Years they say; how do they plan it? 
What's become of Little Janet? 

Never mind; 
She's good; she's kind; 
Age can never bend or win her; 
There's a heart of youth within her. 

ON BEING ASKED FOR A SONG 

CONCERNING THE DEDICATION OF A MOUNTAIN IN SAMOA 
TO THE MEMORY OF STEVENSON 

A Letter to I. O. S. 

But, friend of mine, — and his, — I am afraid! 

How can I make a song 

When the true song is made ! 

For this you say: 

Because that Tusitala loved the birds, 

They who named Tusitala (weaver of charmed words — 

Teller of Tales) 

Have given his mountain to the birds forever! 

There all day long 

Bright-plumaged island-birds make gay the dales, 

From off the sea the swift white bosun over the mountain 

sails. 
From many a large-leaved tree 
The gray dove cooes its low, insistent song. 
From those green hights and vales 
They shall be absent never — 
To show what love can be from man to man. 
Lovers of Birds and Poets — this is glory ! 
It is a poem, — that which these Chiefs have done, — 



TO L. R. S. 309 

In memory of him, the only one. 

And yet our Tusitala could have sung again the pretty 

story — 
Alas, none other can! 

TO AUSTIN DOBSON 

Laureate of the Gentle Heart ! 

Only art like your own art, 

Limpid, gracious, happy-phrased, 

Could praise you as you should be praised. 

Many a lyric you have writ, 

Grave with pathos, gay with wit, 

Or conceived in larger mood, 

Shall outlast the clattering brood 

That usurp our noisy day; 

Shall, with all that's noble, stay 

In our well-loved English tongue 

Till the ending song is sung; 

For no purer tone was heard 

Since men sought Beauty and the Word. 

TO L. R. S. 

Lisa Romana! no mean city gave 

Thee to the world, sired by as true a knight 
As e'er the flying paynim's helmet clave, 
Leading a hope forlorn in glorious fight ! 

And thou, dear, stately maid, no knight of old. 
That eastward battles down the pleasant page 
Of chivalry, ever in heart did hold 
A queenlier image — face more brightly grave. 

Be kind to her, ye seas, ye winds that blow, 
On the long journey homeward, and one day, 
Ocean and wild sea-winds! swift make return 



3IO POEMS AND INSCRIPTIONS 

Of her ye take from us ; — ay, let her yearn 
Back, back to us once more; before this gray 
Whitens, and hearts that love her are laid low. 

A NAME 

Many the names, the souls, the faces dear 
That I have longed to frame in verse sincere; 
But one high name, sweet soul, and face of love 
Seemed ever my poor art, O, far above. 
Like Mary's, stricken with sorrow was that face; 
Like hers it wore a most majestic grace. 
That soul was tender as the sunset sky. 
And full of lofty dream her days went by; 
That name — than God's alone there is no other 
Holy as thine to me, O sacred Mother! 

JOHN GEORGE NICOLAY 

WASHINGTON, D. C, SEPTEMBER, 190I 

This man loved Lincoln, him did Lincoln love; 

Through the long storm, right there, by Lincoln's side, 
He stood, his shield and servitor; when died 

The great, sweet, sorrowful soul — still high above 

All other passions, love for the spirit fled! 
To this one task his pure life was assigned: 
He strove to make the world know Lincoln's mind: 

He served him living, and he served him dead. 
So shall the light from that immortal fame 
Keep bright forever this most faithful name. 

THE COMFORT OF THE TREES 

Mckinley: September, 1901 

Gentle and generous, brave-hearted, kind. 
And full of love and trust was he, our chief; 



THE CITY OF LIGHTS 3II 

He never harmed a soul! O, dull and blind 
And cruel, the hand that smote, beyond belief! 

Strike him? It could not be! Soon should we find 
'T was but a torturing dream — our sudden grief ! 
Then sobs and wailings down the northern wind 
Like the wild voice of shipwreck from a reef! 

By false hope lulled (his courage gave us hope!) 
By day, by night we watched — until unfurled 
At last the word of fate ! Our memories 

Cherish one tender thought in their sad scope: 
He, looking from the window on this world, 
Found comfort in the moving green of trees. 

THE CITY OF LIGHT 

THE PAN-AMERICAN EXPOSITION 

What shall we name it 

As is our bounden duty — 

This new, swift-builded fairy city of Beauty; 

What name that shall not shame it; 

Shall make it live beyond its too short living 

With praises and thanksgiving! 

Its name — how shall we doubt it, 

We who have seen, when the blue darkness falls, 

Leap into lines of light its domes, and spires, and walls, 

Pylons, and colonnades, and towers, 

All garlanded with starry flowers! 

Its name — what heart that did not shout it 

When, from afar, flamed sudden against the night 

The City of Light! 

Amherst House, Buffalo, May, 1901. 



INSCRIPTIONS 

FOR THE 

PAN-AMERICAN EXPOSITION 

BUFFALO, igoi 



INSCRIPTIONS 

FOR THE PROPYL^A 
PANEL I 

HERE, BY THE GREAT WATERS 
OF THE NORTH, ARE BROUGHT 
TOGETHER THE PEOPLES OF THE 
TWO AMERICAS, IN EXPOSITION 
OF THEIR RESOURCES, INDUS- 
TRIES, PRODUCTS, INVENTIONS, 
ARTS, AND IDEAS 

PANEL II 

THAT THE CENTURY NOW BEGUN 
MAY UNITE IN THE BONDS OF 
PEACE, KNOWLEDGE, GOOD-WILL, 
FRIENDSHIP, AND NOBLE EMULA- 
TION ALL THE DWELLERS ON 
THE CONTINENTS AND ISLANDS 
OF THE NEW WORLD 

FOR THE STADIUM 
PANEL I 

NOT IGNOBLE ARE THE DAYS OF 

PEACE, NOT WITHOUT COURAGE 

AND LAURELED VICTORIES 



3l6 POEMS AND INSCRIPTIONS 

PANEL II 

HE WHO FAILS BRAVELY HAS 
NOT TRULY FAILED, BUT IS HIM- 
SELF ALSO A CONQUEROR 

PANEL III 

WHO SHUNS THE DUST AND 

SWEAT OF THE CONTEST, ON 

HIS BROW FALLS NOT THE COOL 

SHADE OF THE OLIVE 

FOR THE GREAT PYLONS 

OF THE TRIUMPHAL 

CAUSEWAY 

ON THE PYLONS WERE STATUES 
OF COURAGE, LIBERTY, TOLER- 
ANCE, TRUTH, BENEVOLENCE, 
PATRIOTISM, HOSPITALITY, AND 
JUSTICE 



PANEL I 

THE SPIRIT OF ADVENTURE IS 
THE MAKER OF COMMON- 
WEALTHS 

PANEL II 

FREEDOM IS BUT THE FIRST 
LESSON IN SELF-GOVERNMENT 



FOR THE GREAT PYLONS 317 

PANEL III 

RELIGIOUS TOLERANCE A SAFE- 
GUARD OF CIVIL LIBERTY 



PANEL IV 

A FREE STATE EXISTS ONLY IN 
THE VIRTUE OF THE CITIZEN 



PANEL V 

WHO GIVES WISELY BUILDS MAN- 
HOOD AND THE STATE — WHO 
GIVES HIMSELF GIVES BEST 

PANEL VI 

TO LOVE ONE'S COUNTRY ABOVE 

ALL OTHERS IS NOT TO DESPISE 

ALL OTHERS 

PANEL VII 

THE BROTHERHOOD OF MAN, 

THE FEDERATION OF NATIONS, 

THE PEACE OF THE WORLD 

PANEL VIII 

BETWEEN NATION AND NATION, 
AS BETWEEN MAN AND MAN, 
LIVES THE ONE LAW OF RIGHT 



3l8 POEMS AND INSCRIPTIONS 

DEDICATORY INSCRIPTIONS 
PANEL I 

TO THE ANCIENT RACES OF 
AMERICA, FOR WHOM THE NEW 
WORLD WAS THE OLD, THAT 
THEIR LOVE OF FREEDOM AND 
OF NATURE, THEIR HARDY COUR- 
AGE, THEIR MONUMENTS, ARTS, 
LEGENDS, AND STRANGE SONGS 
MAY NOT PERISH AND BE 
FORGOTTEN 

PANEL II 

TO THE EXPLORERS AND PIO- 
NEERS WHO BLAZED THE WEST- 
WARD PATH OF CIVILIZATION, 
TO THE SOLDIERS AND SAILORS 
WHO FOUGHT FOR FREEDOM 
AND FOR PEACE, AND TO THE 
CIVIC HEROES WHO SAVE A 
PRICELESS HERITAGE 

PANEL III 

TO THE GREAT INVENTORS AND 
FARSEEING PROJECTORS, TO THE 
ENGINEERS, MANUFACTURERS, 
AGRICULTURISTS, AND MER- 
CHANTS WHO HAVE DEVELOPED 
THE RESOURCES OF THE NEW 
WORLD, AND MULTIPLIED THE 
HOMES OF FREEMEN 



DEDICATORY INSCRIPTIONS 319 

PANEL IV 

TO THOSE WHO IN THE DEADLY 
MINE, ON STORMY SEAS, IN THE 
FIERCE BREATH OF THE FUR- 
NACE, AND IN ALL PERILOUS 
PLACES WORKING CEASELESSLY 
BRING TO THEIR FELLOW MEN 
COMFORT, SUSTENANCE, AND 
THE GRACE OF LIFE 

PANEL V 

TO THE SCHOLARS AND LABORI- 
OUS INVESTIGATORS WHO, IN 
THE OLD WORLD AND THE NEW, 
GUARD THE LAMP OF KNOW- 
LEDGE AND, CENTURY BY CEN- 
TURY, INCREASE THE SAFETY OF 
LIFE, ENLIGHTEN THE MIND AND 
ENLARGE THE SPIRIT OF MAN 

PANEL VI 

TO THOSE PAINTERS, SCULPTORS, 
AND ARCHITECTS, TELLERS OF 
TALES, POETS, AND CREATORS OF 
MUSIC, TO THOSE ACTORS AND 
MUSICIANS WHO IN THE NEW 
WORLD HAVE CHERISHED AND 
INCREASED THE LOVE OF 
BEAUTY 



320 POEMS AND INSCRIPTIONS 

PANEL VII 

TO THE PROPHETS AND HEROES, 
TO THE MIGHTY POETS AND DI- 
VINE ARTISTS, AND TO ALL THE 
LIGHTBEARERS OF THE ANCIENT 
WORLD WHO INSPIRED OUR 
FOREFATHERS AND SHALL LEAD 
AND ENLIGHTEN OUR CHIL- 
DREN'S CHILDREN 

PANEL VIII 

TO THE STATESMEN, PHILOSO- 
PHERS, TEACHERS, AND PREACH- 
ERS, AND TO ALL THOSE WHO, IN 
THE NEW WORLD, HAVE UPHELD 
THE IDEALS OF LIBERTY AND 
JUSTICE, AND HAVE BEEN FAITH- 
FUL TO THE THINGS THAT ARE 
ETERNAL 



"IN THE HIGHTS" 




V ' '"'' ' 



IN THE RIGHTS" 



"IN THE RIGHTS'* 

One who this valley passionately loved 

No more these slopes shall climb, nor hear these 
streams 

That, like the murmured melody of dreams, 
His happy spirit moved. 

He knew the sudden and mysterious thrill 

That takes the heart of man on mountain hights, 

These autumn days that flame from hill to hill. 
These deep and starry nights. 

O vanished spirit! tell us, if so may be. 
Are our wild longings, stirred by scenes like this — 

Our deep-breathed, shadowless felicity — 
A mocking, empty bliss? 

No answering word, save from the inmost soul 
That cries : all things are real — beauty, youth ; 

All the heart feels ; of sorrow and joy the whole ; 
That which but seems is truth. 

This mortal frame, that harbors the immortal, 

Mechanic tho' it be, in our life's fires 
Turns spiritual; it becomes the portal 

Wherethrough the soul aspires. 

The soul's existence in its human sheath 
Is life no more than is the spirit's life 



324 IN THE HIGHTS 

In this wide nature whose keen air we breathe; 
Whose strife arms us to strife. 

And they are wise who seek not to destroy 

The unreasoned happiness of the outpoured year. 

To him, the lost, this vale brought no false joy, 
And therefore is most dear. 

Wherever in the majesty of space, 
Near or afar, but not from God afar, 

Where'er his spirit soars, whatever grace 
Is his, whatever star — 

The aspirations and imaginings 

That in these glorious paths his soul sublimed, 
They are a part of him; they are the wings 

Whereby he strove and climbed. 

Nature to man not alien doth endure; 

Her spirit in his spirit is transfused; 
On this high mystery dream the humble-pure, 

The mightiest poets mused. 

The white clouds billow down the blowing sky, 
Then, O my heart, be lifted up, rejoice! 
The trumpet of the winds, to that wild voice 

Let all my soul reply ! 

HOME ACRES 

A SENSE of pureness in the air. 

Of wholesome life in growing things; 
Waving of blossom, blade, and wings; 

Perfume and beauty everywhere; 

Sky, trees, the grass, the very loam — 

I love them all; this is our home. 



A CALL TO THE MOUNTAINS 325 

God ! make me worthy of Thy land 
Which mine I call a little while; 
This meadow where the sunset's smile 

Falls like a blessing from Thy hand, 

And where the river singing runs 

'Neath wintry skies and summer suns! 

Million on million years have sped 

To frame green fields and bowering hills : 
The mortal for a moment tills 

His span of earth, then is he dead : 

This knows he well, yet doth he hold 

His paradise like miser's gold. 

I would be nobler than to clutch 
My little world with gloating grasp; 
Now, while I live, my hands unclasp, 

Or let me hold it not so much 

For my own joy as for the good 

Of all the gentle brotherhood. 

And as the seasons move in mirth 
Of bloom and bird, of snow and leaf, 
May my calm spirit rise from grief, 

In solace of the lovely earth; 

And tho' the land be dark or lit, 

O, let me gather songs from it. 

A CALL TO THE MOUNTAINS 

I CALLED you once to the sea, 

Come now to the mountains; 
Climb the earth's ramparts with me, 

Drink her deep fountains! 

On the food that you love make merry; 
Forget grind and grief 



326 IN THE HIGHTS 

In the red and the tang of the berry, 
The bronze of the leaf. 

Chestnuts are ripe on the bough, 
And the burrs all are bursting; 

For a tramp with you, John, I vow! 
I am hungering and thirsting. 

Come, John, or you'll be to blame; 

The birds wait your biding. 
One of them, hearing your name. 

Flashed forth from its hiding; — 

See, it is searching for you — 

Its pretty head cocking; 
Pecking, and looking askew, 

On the bare bough rocking. 

And yonder a stray wing flitters; 

A great hawk soars; 
The lakelet gleams and glitters; 

The high wind roars. 

Nearer, from field and thicket. 

Come musical calls; 
The tinkling, clear note of the cricket, 

Chime of ripples and falls. 

From the meadow far up to the hight 

The leaves all are turning; 
By the time you have come to the sight 

The world will be blazing and burning. 

John of Birds, tarry not till 

The first wild snow-flurry; 
Voices of forest and hill 

Cry hurry, O hurry! 



THE LIGHT LIES ON THE FARTHER HILLS 327 

SPRING SURPRISE 

Lo, now it comes once more; lo, my heart leaps again; 
Comes swift the dear surprise, not at the spring, alone, 
But, as a soul that knew, many a year agone, 
All the full bloom of love, since the gray ashes — 

Feels all the glad surprise when the o'er-wearied heart 
Still knows the joy of life, as in the olden days; 
That love can thrill again ; — so the spring calls once 

more 
With the old tenderness ; till my heart trembles. 

AUTUMN TREES 

But yesterday a world of haze. 
To-day, a glory of color and light ! 

Like golden voices shouting praise 

The bright trees flame along the hight. 

Who would have thought, the summer through, 
Each separate tree of all the choir, 

Lifting its green against the blue. 

Held at its heart such flame and fire? 

"THE LIGHT LIES ON THE FARTHER 
HILLS" 

The clouds upon the mountains rest; 

A gloom is on the autumn day; 
But down the valley, in the west, 

The hidden sunlight breaks its way — 

A light lies on the farther hills. 

Forget thy sorrow, heart of mine! 
Tho' shadows fall and fades the leaf, 



328 IN THE HIGHTS 

Somewhere is joy, tho' 't is not thine; 
The power that sent can heal thy grief; 
And light lies on the farther hills. 

Thou wouldst not with the world be one 
If ne'er thou knewest hurt and wrong; 

Take comfort, tho' the darkened sun 
Never again bring gleam or song, 
The light lies on the farther hills. 

"AH, NEAR, DEAR FRIEND" 

Ah, near, dear friend of many and many years! 
I have known thy lovelinesses — known thy tears, 
Thy smiles, like sunlight crossing shade, 
Thy spirit unafraid. 

All these have been like music to my soul; 
These, having fashioned me, should I extol, 
It were, in sooth, myself to praise — 
O Light of all my days ! 

Thy smiles, thy tears, thy exquisite sad words — 
Mystic as, in the moonlight, songs of birds; 
But, O, more wonderful than these. 
Thy lonely silences. 

MUSIC IN DARKNESS 



At the dim end of day 

I heard the great musician play: 

Saw her white hands now slow, now swiftly pass; 

Where gleamed the polished wood, as in a glass. 



MUSIC IN DARKNESS 329 

The shadow hands repeating every motion. 

Then did I voyage forth on music's ocean, 

Visiting many a sad or joyful shore, 

Where storming breakers roar, 

Or singing birds made music so intense, — 

So intimate of happiness or sorrow, — 

I scarce could courage borrow 

To hear those strains: well-nigh I hurried thence 

To escape the intolerable weight 

That on my spirit fell when sobbed the music : late, too 

late, too late! 
While slow withdrew the light 
And, on the lyric tide, came in the night. 

II 

So grew the dark, enshrouding all the room 

In a melodious gloom, 

Her face growing viewless; line by line 

That swaying form did momently decline 

And was in darkness lost. 

Then white hands ghostly turned, tho' still they tost 

From tone to tone; pauseless and sure as if in perfect 

light; 
With blind, instinctive, most miraculous sight, 
On, on they sounded in that world of night. 

ni 

Ah, dearest one; was this thy thought, as mine, 

As still the music stayed? 

"So shall the loved ones fade, — 

Feature by feature, line on lovely line; 

For all our love, alas. 

From twilight into darkness shall they pass! 

We in that dark shall see them nevermore, 



330 IN THE HIGHTS 

But from our spirits they shall not be banished; 
For on and on shall the sweet music pour 
That was the soul of them, the loved, the vanished; 
And we, who listen, shall not lose them quite 
In that mysterious night." 

THE ANGER OF BEETHOVEN 

This night the enchanting musicians rendered a trio of 

Beethoven — 
Light and lovely, or solemn, as in a Tuscan tower 
The walls with gracious tapestries gleam, and the deep- 
cut windows 
Give on landscapes gigantic, framing the four-square 

world — 
When sudden the music turned to anger, as nature's 

murmur 
Sometimes to anger turns, speaking, in voice infuriate, 
Cruel, quick, implacable; inhuman, savage, resistless — 
And I thought of that sensitive spirit flinging back in 

scorn tempestuous 
And in art supreme, immortal, the infamous arrows of 
fortune. 

MOTHER AND CHILD 

Mother and Child! There is no holier sight 
In all the realms of morning and of night; 
And all the meaning of that word. Divine, 
Shines in the tender glory of this sign. 
The world learns Worship here; it kneels in awe, 
Seeing a mystery, knowing a mighty law. 
Sin cannot live in presence of this grace, 
No least un worthiness perplex the place. 



MOTHER OF HEROES 33 1 

Here Good doth dwell, but never baneful Doubt, 
For Love and Loveliness would cast it out. 
Were prophet voices still, the heavens brass, 
Here would a new Evangel come to pass; 
Out from the dark a rose-leaf hand would leap. 
Close to the Eternal Throne the ancient world to keep. 

ALICE FREEMAN PALMER 

When fell, to-day, the word that she had gone, 

Not this my thought : Here a bright journey ends, 

Here rests a soul unresting; here, at last. 

Here ends that earnest strength, that generous life — 

For all her life was giving. Rather this 

I said (after the first swift, sorrowing pang) : 

Radiant with love, and love's unending power, 

Hence, on a new quest, starts an eager spirit — 

No dread, no doubt, unhesitating forth 

With asking eyes; pure as the bodiless souls 

Whom poets vision near the central throne 

Angelically ministrant to man; 

So fares she forth with smiling, Godward face; 

Nor should we grieve, but give eternal thanks — 

Save that we mortal are, and needs must mourn. 

"MOTHER OF HEROES" 

SARAH BLAKE SHAW 

Mother of heroes, she — of them who gave 

Their lives to lift the lowly, free the slave. 

Her, through long years, two master passions bound : 

Love of our free land; and of all sweet sound. 

'T was praising her to praise this land of grace ; 

And when I think on music — lo, her face ! 



332 IN THE HIGHTS 

THE GREAT CITIZEN 

ABRAM STEVENS HEWITT 

Mourn for his death, but for his life rejoice, 
Who was the city's heart, the city's voice. 

Dauntless in youth, impetuous in age, 
Weighty in speech, in civic counsel sage; 

Talents and wealth to him were but a trust 
To lift his hapless brother from the dust; — • 

This his chief aim: to wake, in every man, 
The soul to do what only courage can. 

He saw the evil, as the wise must see. 

But firm his faith in what the world shall be. 

Following the truth, he led his fellow-men — 
Through years and virtues the great citizen ! 

By being great, he made the city great; 
Serving the city, he upheld the state. 

So shall the city win a purer fame 
Led by the living splendor of his name. 



ON READING OF A POET'S DEATH 

I READ that, in his sleep, the poet died 

Ere the day broke; 
In a new dawn, as rose earth's crimson tide, 

His spirit woke. 



A WONDROUS SONG 2>33 

Yet still with us his golden spirit stayed: 

On the same page 
That told his end, his living verse I read — 

His lyric rage. 

Behold ! I thought, they call him cold in death, 

But hither turn — 
See where his soul, a glorious, flaming breath, 

Doth pulse and burn ! 

This is the poet's triumph, his high doom ! 

After life's stress. 
For him the silent, dark, o'er-shadowing tomb 

Is shadowless. 

And this the miracle, the mystery: 

In that he gives 
His soul away, magnificently free — 

By this he lives. 

JOHN HENRY BONER 

In life's hard fight this poet did his part; 
He was a hero of the mind and heart. 
Now rests his body 'neath his own loved skies, 
And from his tomb Courage! his spirit cries. 

"A WONDROUS SONG" 

A v^roNDROUS song, 

Rank with sea smells and the keen lust of life; 

Echoing with battle trumpets, and the moan 

Of dying men in reeking hospitals; 

Thrilling all through with human pity and love 

And crying courage in the face of doom ; — 

With all its love of life still praising death 



334 IN THE HIGHTS 

Enchantingly, as death was never praised; 

And with high anger and a god-like scorn 

Passionately proclaiming life in death 

And the unquenched, immortal soul of man — 

A wondrous song, 

Trembling with unshed tears and life's full joy, 

Burst the tense meshes of the critic's web 

And sang itself into eternal day. 

A NEW POET 

I 
Friends, beware! 

Stop babbling! Hark, a sound is in the air! 
Above the pretty songs of schools 
(Not of music made, but rules), 
Above the panic rush for gold 
And emptinesses manifold. 
And selling of the soul for phantom fame, 
And reek of praises where there should be blame; 

Over the dust and muck. 
The buzz and roar of wheels. 
Another music steals; 
A right, true note is struck. 

n 

Friends, beware! 

A sound of singing in the air! 

The love-song of a man who loves his fellow-men; 

Mother-love and country-love, and the love of sea and fen ; 

Lovely thoughts and mighty thoughts and thoughts that 

linger long; 
There has come to the old world's singing the thrill of a 

brave new song. 



BREAD UPON THE WATERS 335 

in 

They said there were no more singers, 

But listen ! — a master voice ! 

A voice of the true joy-bringers ! 

Now will ye heed and rejoice, 

Or pass on the other side, 

And wait till the singer has died. 

Then weep o'er his voiceless clay? 

Friends, beware! 

A keen, new sound is in the air; — 

Know ye a poet's coming is the old world's judgment day ! 

THE SINGER OF JOY 

He sang the rose, he praised its fragrant breath; 

(Alas, he saw the gnawing worm beneath.) 

He sang of summer and the flowing grass; 

(He knew that all the beauty quick would pass.) 

He said the world was good and skies were fair; 

(He saw far, gathering clouds, and days of care.) 

Immortally he sang pure friendship's flame; 

(Yet had he seen it shrivel to a name.) 

And, ah, he praised true love, with golden speech; 

(What tho' it was a star he could not reach.) 

His songs in cowering souls the hero woke ; 

(He in the shadows waited the last stroke.) 

He was the singer of the joyous art; 

(Down to the grave he bore a broken heart.) 

BREAD UPON THE WATERS 

A MELANCHOLY, life o'cr-wearied man 

Sat in his lonely room, and, with slow breath, 

Counted his losses: thrice-wreckt plan on plan, 



336 IN THE HIGHTS 

Failure of friend, and hope, and heart, and faith — 

This last the deadliest, and holding all. 

Help was there none through weeping, for the years 

Had stolen all his treasury of tears. 

Then on a page where his eyes chanced to fall 

There sprang such words of courage that they seemed 

Cries on a battlefield, or as one dreamed 

Of trumpets sounding charges. On he read 

With fixed gaze, and sad, down-drooping head, 

And curious, half-remembering, musing mind. 

The ringing of that voice had something stirred 

In his deep heart, like music long since heard. 

"Brave words," he sighed; and looked where they were 

signed ; 
There, reading his own name, tears made him blind. 

LOST 

An old, blind poet, sitting sad and lone, 

Thinking his scribe was near, chimed slowly forth 

Into the empty and unheeding air 

A song, of all his songs the loveliest. 

That night he died, and the sweet song was lost. 

A million roses and uncounted worlds 
Unknown, save to their Maker, strew the flood 
Of heedless and immeasurable time. 

"WHAT MAN HATH DONE" 

Thus did he speak, thus was he comforted: 
"I yet shall learn to live ere I am dead; 
I shall be firm of will, know false from true: 
Each error will but show me how to do, 



HE PONDERED WELL 337 

When next the occasion calls. I shall pursue 
The path that grim experience has taught." 
This was his solace, this his saving thought. 

Then came a sudden knocking at the door. 
He rose — and did what he had done before : 
He looked into the dark, he flinched, he quailed; 
The occasion came, and once again he failed. 



Thus wrote a man who had seen much of men: 
"What man hath done, that will he do again." 



Yet are there souls who, having clinched with fate, 
Have learned to live, ere it was all too late. 
Be it thy hope, tho' seven times a fool. 
To get some lessons in life's fearful school. 

"HE PONDERED WELL" 

He pondered well, looked in his heart, 
And bravely did his part. 
Then spake the Ironic Powers 
That rule the prostrate hours: 
" Look now on this your deed ; — 
Despite your heroic creed, 
Your pondering and your prayers, 
Behold how ill the pretty project fares! 
Not hotly were you driven; 
For thought and thought the days were seven; 
All was wisdom, all was cool — 
And now one name you to yourself have given: 
'Tis fool, fool, fool, and only fool!" 



Hast thou kept honor, and sweet courtesy kept, 
Then is no loss that may be wailed or wept. 



338 IN THE HIGHTS 

"THOU THINKEST THOU HAST LIVED" 

Thou thinkest thou hast lived 

If fortune fair hath touched thee with its wand, 

If thou hast known, but once, the top of life 

In giving royally, in truly loving. 

In braving some great deed in sight of men, 

Or issuing victorious from strife. 

Not so ; nor hast of life the flower and hight 

In suffering that others may go free. 

For thee the sequent years still proudly hold 

A keener sense of the rich depths of being, 

When thou, brave novice, shalt endure the lore 

Of fate's immeasurable ironies. 

Thou may'st behold the scorn of thee and thine 

Sit on the laureled brow of him thy hand 

Helped to that heaven; yes, thou yet may'st see 

Success, in them thou gavest strength to rise, 

Used for thine own disfigurement and loss; 

May'st know betrayal and forgetfulness, 

And knowing shalt thy spirit hold in calm; 

Pitying the arrogant, the meanly vain, 

Unbitterly, and with no cloying hate. 

Disdain, nor envy; comforted and blest 

With the high thought of knowledge, worthily gained. 

And the humility which makes men wise, 

And the uncensured pride of purity. 

THE GOOD MAN 

What do you know of me, my gentlest one ! 
You who have watched my life from day to day 
Through half a lifetime ! Who have seen, indeed, 
My comings and my goings; my dull years 
In sunshine and in shade; in getting bread; 



TWO HEROES 339 

Gathering a little gold, a little fame, 

A thousand nothings. What, I say, know you 

Of my deep, inward, real, wonderful life? 

My wild emprizes, foolishnesses, fears, 

Failures, and shames, and all but acted crimes; 

My half-mad waking dreams, O, yes, stark mad; 

My spiritual comedies, my glooms — 

Unutterable, intense, and without hope; 

My secret, true, and unpraised heroisms; 

My tragedies — played on the bare soul's stage, 

With no eye witnessing but mine, alone — 

Great God! not thine, I pray, not thine, not thine! 

"SO FIERCE THE BUFFETS" 

So fierce the buffets of untimely fate 
He bowed his youthful head in mortal pain, 
And cried: "Alas, my happy life is slain!" 
Then came true sorrow, and he knew, too late, 
His early woe was but a feather's weight. 

TWO HEROES 

Two heroes do the world's insistent work : 
One rushes in the battle's blood and murk, 

And, knowing the foeman flies, 

In one rich moment dies. 

The other, on a path he long has feared. 
By bugle blast and drum-beat all uncheered, 
At duty's chill behest 
Gives life to want and waste. 

For him, the battle hero, high we pile 

The sculptured stone ; his ringing name, the while, 

In praises and in songs 

Its lyric life prolongs. 



340 IN THE HIGHTS 

For the other, we fashion a heaven of late reward; 

His life, all dark, and desolate, and hard, 
Down to oblivion goes — 
Unless some great God knows! 

THE WORLD'S END 

Once wandering far in Asia, lo, we came 
Unto a valley falling toward the east ; 
Naked its sides as if a spreading flame 
Had swept all bare; devouring, in mad feast, 

Forest and herb, all beasts and singing choirs. 
With ardent colors were the vast hills strewn, 
Glowing like unquenched embers of great fires; 
Then sank the red sun, rose immense the moon. 

So builded were those walls, so leaned the earth, — 
With slow, unnatural, and awful trend, — 
It seemed, at last, in this strange land of dearth, 

Even just beyond, the solid world had end — 
And, moving on, our vision might take flight 
Into that pit whence issue day and night. 

SHELLEY'S "OZYMANDIAS" 

This timeless river — oldest of all time, 

These desolate mountains, deserts stretching vast; 

These pyramids and temples; this domain 

Of tombs; and empty shadows of the dead, 

And mockery of old fame ; — here day and night 

I wander, not alone, nor with sad heart : 

One line of Shelley singing in my soul. 



INAUGURATION DAY 34 1 

LA SALLE 

EXPLORER OF THE MISSISSIPPI 

Battling, through trackless lands, 'gainst savage foes; 
Striving, enduring, knowing the bitterness 
Of foul betrayal, still in front he goes; 
Onward through swamp and forest see him press. 
Proud, silent, suffering, misunderstood; 
The weight he bore, it seemed that no man could; 
Then at the last, when the infernal stroke 
Fell, 't was as if the silent leader spoke : 
"This river I first traced to the far sea — 
If monument I need, this let it be; 
Then shall I live with the chief sons of time. 
This is the path of empire : onward to empire climb ! '* 

4 INAUGURATION DAY 

On this great day a child of time and fate 
On a new path of power doth stand and wait. 

Tho' heavy-burdened shall his heart rejoice. 
Dowered with a nation's faith, an empire's choice. 

Who hath no strength, but that the people give, 
And in their wills, alone, his will doth live. 

On this one day, this, this, is their one man. 
The well-beloved, the chief American ! 

Whose people are his brothers, fathers, sons: 
In this his strength, and not a million guns. 



342 IN THE RIGHTS 

Whose power is mightier than the mightiest crown, 
Because that soon he lays that power down. 

Whose wish, linked to the people's, shall exceed 
The force of civic wrong and banded greed. 

Whose voice, in friendship or in warning heard, 
Brings to the nations a free people's word; 

And, where the opprest out from the darkness grope, 
'T is as the voice of freedom and of hope. 

O pray that he may rightly rule the state. 
And grow, in truly serving, truly great. 

THE WASHINGTON MONUMENT 

AT WASHINGTON, D. C. 

Straight soars to heaven the white magnificence — 
Free as man's thought, high as one lonely name ; — 

True image of his soul, serene, immense. 
Mightiest of monuments and mightiest fame. 



BUILDERS OF THE STATE 

Who builds the state? Not he whose power 
Rooted in wrong, in gold intrenched. 

Makes him the regent of the hour; 
The eternal light cannot be quenched : 

This shall outlive his little span ; 

Shine fierce upon each tainted scheme; 
Shall show where shame blots all the plan; 

The treachery in the dazzling dream. 



BUILDERS OF THE STATE 343 

He builds the state who builds on truth, — 
Not he who, crushing toward his aim. 

Strikes conscience from the throne, and ruth, 
To win a dark, unpiteous fame. 

Not he, tho' master among men, 
Empire and ages all his thought — 

Tho' like an eagle be his ken: 

Down to the ground shall all be brought. 

For this I hold, and shall for aye. 

Till Heaven sends death, that they who sow 
Hate, and the blood of brothers, they 

Shall harvest hate and want and woe — 

The curse of Earth's dread agonies 
Whereto they added, in their hour, 

And all the unheeded tears and cries 
They caused in lust of lawless power. 

He builds the state who to that task 

Brings strong, clean hands, and purpose pure; 
Who wears not virtue as a mask; 

He builds the state that shall endure — 

The state wherein each loyal son 
Holds as a birthright from true sires 

Treasures of honor, nobly won. 
And freedom's never-dying fires. 



344 IN THE HIGHTS 

IMPROMPTUS 

TO WILLIAM WATSON 

ON HIS CORONATION ODE 

(These lines were first published on the day the King was to have been 
crowned.) 

In this high ode with its great shadow-kings, 

More real than real things; 
In this proud pageant of imperial verse 

That nobly doth rehearse 
England's true glories, for the world to read, 

The King is crowned indeed! 

"life is the hammer" 

(SIDNEY LANIER) 

Life is the hammer that strikes 
From the bell of the poet's heart 
Art. 

And whether he lives or dies 
The music in widening rings 
Sings. 

"the critic scanned the poet's book" 

The critic scanned the poet^s book 
And ranged it calmly in its place • — 
A soul that felt its music shook 
As if a bolt struck down through space; 
And in that soul, like flower from seed. 
The music turned to lofty deed 
That sanctified a race. 



IMPROMPTUS 345 

"her delicate form" 

Her delicate form, her night of hair, 

Took me, unaware. 
They called her poet^ and the word 

Strangely I heard; 
For that I thought : Can she 
A poem write, and be? 

FRANCESCA MIA 

No verses I can bring her, 
No song that I can sing her, 
Can be so sweet, by half. 
As the music of her laugh, 
As the murmur of her voice, 
As the sound of her violin. 
T^hese make my heart rejoice. 
These me to heaven can win. 
But something in her face. 
Sad, wild, and full of grace — 
A look in those dark eyes 
That dream, and flash, and dance, 
And with soft shadows fill — 
These bring one long-loved glance, 
Tender, and deep, and wise; 
Then doth my heart stand still. 

AGE, AND THE SCORNER 

As I hobble, old and halt. 

Daily, nightly. 

By you, hectoring on the corner, 

I know you for a graybeard scorner, 

Tho' you raise your hat politely : 



346 IN THE HIGHTS 

I know you hold it for a fault 

That I bend with burdening years, 

Dull of eye, and dull of ears; 

That this poll 

Whitens like a flax-wigged doll. 

'T is a fault, you think ; but wait ! 

Something marches, men call Fate; 

If you, boy! succeed in keeping 

Safe from sweep of Old Time's reaping, 

You 'II be the bent-back one that hobbles 

Over the cobbles — 

Wondering why, all young at heart, 

With the old you're pushed apart. 

TO JACOB A. RIIS 

ON HIS SILVER WEDDING 

Were true hearts bells, all breezes would be bringing, 
Straight to your heart to-day, a silver ringing 
From those you 've blest, the heavy hearts and sore ; — 
Hark the sweet sound from here to Elsinore! 

MUSIC AND FRIENDSHIP 

Thrice is sweet music sweet when every word 
And lovely tone by kindred hearts are heard; 
So when I hear true music. Heaven send, 
To share that heavenly joy, one dear, dear friend! 

FRIENDSHIP 

TO 

From the happy first time 

That we met — and wondered, 

I from thee and thou from me 
Ne'er in soul were sundered. 



IMPROMPTUS 347 

No regret, no blaming; 

Absence has not shaken: 
Far apart, still close in heart; 

Undoubting, unforsaken. 

As the circle narrows 

We draw near and nearer; 
So, old friend! as comes the end 

Thou art dearer, dearer. 

TO E. c. s. 

ON HIS SEVENTIETH BIRTHDAY 

His life was generous as his life was long — 
Filled to the brim with friendship and with song. 

"tell me good-by" 

Dark Southern girl! the dream-like day is past, 
The harbor light burns red against the sky; 

In the high blue, star follows star full fast; 

The ship that takes me northward loometh nigh; 
"Tell me good-by!" 

Good-by to the red rose that is your mouth, 
The tender violets that are your sigh; 

The sweetness that you are — that is my South; 
Ah, not too soon. Enchantress, do I fly! 
"Tell me good-by." 

"Tell me good-by," — but not too sweetly tell 

Lest all too hard the going, lest I cry 
"Never, no never!" tho' the parting bell 

Ring madly in the night; not then could I 
Tell you good-by. 



348 IN THE HIGHTS 

FAREWELL TO CHARLESTON 

Enchanted city, O farewell, farewell! 

If farewell it can be 

When here, 'twixt the dark pines and sunrise sea, 

Our hearts remain, 

While fare our bodies to the North again ! 

Here stay our hearts amid these mansions stately, 

These oaks, forever green, that guard sedately 

The living and the dead — 

Thrilled through with song that hath interpreted 

The beauty and the gladness of the day. 

O, yes, our hearts remain; they must forever stay 

'Midst happy gardens, unforgettable, 

And where St. Michael's chimes 

The fragrant hours exquisitely tell. 

Making the world one loveliness, like a true poet's rhymes. 

"the pines" 

These are the sounds that I heard at the home in " The 

Pines": 
The frightened cry of the yellowthroat hid in the trees; 
The chipmunk's rustling tread on the autumn leaves 
That fringe with brown the green of the wave and the 

wood; 
The purr of the quick canoe where it curves the wave 
And the liquid push of the oar; the voice of the wind 
Now far, now near, as it sighs through the swaying 

boughs — 
Through the boughs that sway with a slow and wave- 
like motion 
Like growths of the sea that swing in the moving waters; 
The voice of the wind I heard, now near, now far; 
Voice of the grieving world that murmurs and calls 
And wakes in the spirit of man an answering cry. 



IMPROMPTUS 349 

"not wreaths alone" 

Not wreaths alone, for him who wins the fight 

'Twixt public Wrong and Right ; — 
The heavy burden of the people's cares 

The civic conqueror bears. 
So to the chief, on this victorious night, 
Pledge hands and hearts and heaven-climbing prayers. 

FOR THE CITY CLUB 

In Love of City here we take our stand : — 
Love of the City is no narrow love; 

Who loves it not he cannot love his land 
With love that shall protect, exalt, endure. 

Here are our homes, our hearts; great God above! 

The City shall be noble, shall be pure. 

TO C. H. RUSSELL 

WHOSE FATHER WAS ONE OF LINCOLN'S HELPERS 

I GIVE this token to the son of him 
That was a type of those brave, prescient souls 
Who when dire trouble fell upon the land 
From the beginning saw the fateful end. 
Bending strong backs to the tremendous strain. 

Higher than knighthood's honor lives your line 
For that the mighty Lincoln hurriedly called 
To your true sire, in a perilous hour, 
And got true answer — succor swift, complete. 

On such as he the patient President, 
The tender elder brother of us all. 
The sad, wise leader leaned, and not in vain. 
Therefore the nation lives — therefore shall live, 
Inheriting the spirit of great days. 



350 IN THE HIGHTS 

"give thy day to duty" 

Give thy day to Duty! 

To that high thought be given 

Thine every hour. 

So shall the bending heaven, 

As from the root the flower, 

Bring to thy glad soul Beauty. 

TWO OPTIMISTS 

(a letter to JOSEPH JEFFERSON, ACKNOWLEDGING A COPY OF 
HELEN KELLER'S ESSAY ON "OPTIMISM") 

To send fit thanks, I would I had the art. 
For this small book that holds a mighty heart, 
Enshrining, as it does, brave Helen's creed. 

In thought and word; in many a lovely deed; 
In facing what would crush a lesser soul. 
Making of barriers helps to reach the goal; 
In sympathy with all; in human kindness 
To the blind of heart (dear girl ! not this her blindness !), 
As well as to her brethren of the dark 
And silent world, who through her see and hark; 
In bringing out of darkness a great light, 
Which burns and beacons high in all men's sight, 
That exquisite spirit is true optimist ! 

Yet there are other names in the bright list: 
If faith in man and woman that still lasts, 
Tho' chilled by seventy winters' bitter blasts; 
If seeing, as you see, the good in evil, 
And even something Christian in the devil; 
If power to take misfortune as a friend 
And to be cheerful to the darkening end; 
Not to be spoiled by praise, nor deeply stung 
By the detractor's sharp and envious tongue; 



THE PASSING OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 35 1 

If living in fairy-land as really now 

As when heaven's dew was fresh on childhood's brow ; 

If seeing, in fine, this world as through a prism 

Of lovely colors be true optimism, 

Then Jefferson is true optimist no less, 

And Heaven sent both this troubled world to bless. 



THE PASSING OF JOSEPH JEFFERSON 

Some element from nature seems withdrawn, 

The world we lived in being of his spirit wrought - 

His brightness, sweetness, tender gayety, 

His childlike, wistful, and half-humorous faith 

That turned this harsh earth into fairy-land. 

He made our world, and now our world is changed. 

The sunniest nature his that ever breathed; 
Most lovable of all the sons of men; 
Who built his joy on making others happy; 
Like Jesus, lover of the hills and shores. 
And like him to the beasts and flowers kin, 
And with a brother's love for all mankind, 
But chiefly for the loving — tho' the lost. 
In his own art, — ineffable, serene. 
And mystical (not less to nature true 
And to the heart of man), — his was the power 
To shed a light of love on human waifs 
And folk of simple soul. Where'er he went. 
Sweet childhood followed and all childlike hearts. 
His very presence made a holiday — 
Affectionate laughter and quick, unsad tears. 

Now, he being gone, the sun shines not so bright 
And every shadow darkens. 



352 IN THE HIGHTS 

Kind Heaven forbid 
Our lives should lack forever what he gave; 
Prove mirage-haunted, every good unreal! 
Let the brave cheer of life we had through him 
Return, reflected from his joyous soul 
That cannot all be lost, where'er it hides, — 
Hides, but is quenched not, — haply smiUng still 
Near where his well-loved Shakespeare smiling sits. 
Whose birthday for his own new birth he took 
Into the unseen world, to him not far 
But radiant with the same mysterious light 
That filled his noontime with the twilight dream. 
And it was Easter, too — the golden day 
Of resurrection, and man's dauntless hope. 

Into the unseen he past, willing and glad. 
And humbly proud of a great nation's love; 
In honored age, with heart untouched by years 
Save to grow sweeter, and more dear, more dear — 
Into that world whereon, so oft, he mused; 
Where he forgets not this, nor shall we him — 
That magic smile, that most pathetic voice, 
That starry glance, that rare and faithful soul. 

From dream to dream he past on Shakespeare's 
day — 
So dedicate his mind to pleasant thought. 
So deep his fealty to that supreme shade; 
He being, like him of Avon, a fairy child, 
High-born of miracle and mystery, 
Of wonder, and of wisdom, and of mirth. 



SHALL WE NOT PRAISE THE LIVING 353 

"SHALL WE NOT PRAISE THE LIVING?" 

I 

Ungenerous ! 
Shall we not praise the living as the dead? 
And I, who lately sang a beautiful spirit fled, 
Shall I not praise a living spirit we know, 
Dear heart! we know full well, 
And long have known, in utmost joy and woe; 
In our own sorrows, and delights; 
Her days of brightness and lone-weeping nights! 
If she should die, alas the day ! how swift this verse 
would tell 
Our anguish, our large loss, irreparable, 
In a wild passion of praise 

For her dear virtues, her sweet friendship's ways, 
That many know; but only a sacred few 
Know, as to the evening hour is known the dew, 
As the still dawn knows the great, melting stars, 
As night is intimate to those who love, 
As sorrow's voice is known to the mourning dove, 
As memoried twilight holds the sunset's crimson bars. 

II 

Shall we not praise the loveliness 

God gave her, and the true heart that cannot help but 

bless ? 
For she is not of those 
Who virtues wear like graceful draperies, 
But breathes them as her life. Where'er she goes 
Go pleasure and pure thoughts, and baseness dies. 
A holy ministry her life is, even without intent; 
For, tho' she worships duty, 



354 IN THE HIGHTS 

Such elements in her are exquisitely blent 
She cannot but be kind; 
A spiritual radiance in her beauty 
Makes itself inly felt, even by the blind. 

Ah, thou and I, dear soul ! we know 
How the rich courtesy that touched full many a heart 
Is no mere learnt and gracious art; 
For when, to those she loved, keen trouble came, 
How leaped her spirit, like a flame; 
How quick, sure, self -forgetting, beyond thought, 
The angelic succor that brave spirit brought ! 

Ill 

How may I fitly name them all — 
The graces, gentlenesses, benedicities, 
That in a white processional 
Move before these musing eyes; 
Nor would I shame 

That proud humility which is the crown and chief 
Of all the virtues that make up her golden sheaf; 
Tho' should I name 

Each separate goodness, clearly, that is her very own, 
To her calm eyes, alone. 

The authentic picture would be never known — 
The portrait of another it would seem ; 
And should one say, " This, this indeed is you ! " 
"No," she would cry, "'t is but a poet's dream. 
And, save as a dream, it cannot all be true ! " 

IV 

This, then, the dream: Large, innocent eyes, 
Lit with life's romance and surprise. 
And with a child's strange wisdom wise. 



SHALL WE NOT PRAISE THE LIVING 355 

A child in nature, eager, gay, 
And, yet, in all a woman's way 
Wifely and motherly her day. 

Curious, but constant; slow to wrath, 
Yet nobly scornful; pride she hath 
That sheds a splendor on her path. 

She breathes a heaven-born sympathy; 
For her there is no low nor high; 
Goodness is honor in her eye: 

So, in the throng, each separate one 
Deems her glad welcome his alone, 
As if some special grace were shown. 

The great world, seeing her afar. 
Claims her, and names her for a star; 
But, among nearer watchers, are 

Some who a sacred tale could tell 
How those bright beams, ineffable, 
On one great hero-spirit fell. 



Shall we not praise the living? 

Too soon the living pass 

Like images on the unremembering glass, 

Scarce even a breath's length ! shall we not thanksgiv- 
ing 

Upraise, or e'er the everlasting sleep 

Hath dulled the ear? that slumber deep 

Whereof we know so little, however we may hope — 

Mortals who see a closing door, and never see it 
ope. 



3S6 ♦ IN THE HIGHTS 

HYMN 

WRITTEN FOR THE SERVICE IN MEMORY OF DR. J. L. M. 
CURRY, HELD BY THE SOUTHERN EDUCATION CONFER- 
ENCE, RICHMOND, VIRGINIA, APRIL 26, I903 

God of the strong, God of the weak, 
Lord of all lands, and our own land; 

Light of all souls, from Thee we seek 

Light from Thy light, strength from Thy hand. 

In suffering Thou hast made us one, 

In mighty burdens one are we; 
Teach us that lowliest duty done 

Is highest service unto Thee. 

Teach us. Great Teacher of mankind. 
The sacrifice that brings Thy balm ; 

The love, the work that bless and bind; 
Teach us Thy majesty. Thy calm. 

Teach Thou, and we shall know, indeed, 
The truth divine that maketh free; 

And knowing, we may sow the seed 
That blossoms through eternity ; — 

May sow in every living heart 
That to the waiting day doth ope. 

Not ours, O God! the craven part, 
To shut one human soul from hope. 

Now, in the memory of Thy Saint, 
To whom Thy little ones were dear, 

Help us to toil and not to faint. 
Till earth grows dark and heaven comes near. 



JOHN WESLEY 357 

JOHN WESLEY 

WRITTEN FOR THE CELEBRATION OF THE TWO-HUN- 
DREDTH ANNIVERSARY OF THE BIRTH OF JOHN 
WESLEY, AT WESLEYAN UNIVERSITY, MIDDLETOWN, 
CONNECTICUT, JUNE, I903 

I 

In those clear, piercing, piteous eyes behold 
The very soul that over England flamed ! 
Deep, pure, intense; consuming shame and ill; 
Convicting men of sin; making faith live; 
And, — this the mightiest miracle of all, — 
Creating God again in human hearts. 

What courage of the flesh and of the spirit ! 
How grim of wit, when wit alone might serve! 
What wisdom his to know the boundless might 
Of banded effort in a world like ours ! 
How meek, how self-forgetful, courteous, calm! 
A silent figure when men idly raged 
In murderous anger; calm, too, in the storm, — 
Storm of the spirit, strangely imminent, — 
When spiritual lightnings struck men down 
And brought, by violence, the sense of sin. 
And violently oped the gates of peace. 

O hear that voice, which rang from dawn to night, 
In church and abbey whose most ancient walls 
Not for a thousand years such accents knew ! 
On windy hilltops; by the roaring sea; 
'Mid tombs, in market-places, prisons, fields; 
'Mid clamor, vile attack, or deep-awed hush. 
Wherein celestial visitants drew near 
And secret ministered to troubled souls ! 



358 IN THE HIGHTS 

Hear ye, O hear! that ceaseless-pleading voice, 
Which storm, nor suffering, nor age could still — 
Chief prophet-voice through nigh a century's span! / 
Now silvery as Zion's dove that mourns, 
Now quelling as the Archangel's judgment-trump, 
And ever with a sound like that of old 
Which, in the desert, shook the wandering tribes, 
Or, round about storied Jerusalem, 
Or by Gennesaret, or Jordan, spake 
The words of life. 

Let not that image fade 
Ever, O God! from out the minds of men, 
Of him Thy messenger and stainless priest. 
In a brute, sodden, and unfaithful time. 
Early and late, o'er land and sea, on-driven; 
In youth, in eager manhood, age extreme — 
Driven on forever, back and forth the world. 
By that divine, omnipotent desire. 
The hunger and the passion for men's souls! 

Ah, how he loved Christ's poor! No narrow thought 
Dishumaned any soul from his emprize; 
But his the prayer sincere that Heaven might send 
Him chiefly to the humble; he would be. 
Even as the Galilean, dedicate 
Unto the ministry of lowliness: 
That boon did Heaven mercifully grant; 
And gladly was he heard; and rich the fruit; 
While still the harvest ripens round the earth; 
And many own the name once given in scorn ; 
And all revere the holy life he led, 
Praise what he did for England, and the world. 
And call that greatness which was once reproach. 
Would we were worthy for his praise. 



JOHN WESLEY 359 

Dear God! 
Thy servant never knew one selfish hour! 
How are we shamed, who look upon a world 
Ages afar from that true kingdom preached 
Millenniums ago in Palestine! 

Send us, again, O Spirit of all Truth ! 
High messengers of dauntless faith and power 
Like him whose memory this day we praise, 
We cherish and we praise with burning hearts. 
Let kindle, as before, from his bright torch, 
Myriads of messengers aflame with Thee 
To darkest places bearing light divine 1 

n 

As did one soul, whom here I fain would sing, 
For here in youth his gentle spirit took 
New fire from Wesley's glow. 

How oft have I, 
A little child, barkened my father's voice 
Preaching the Word in country homes remote, 
Or wayside schools, where only two or three 
Were gathered. Lo, again that voice I hear, 
Like Wesley's, raised in those sweet, fervent hymns 
Made sacred by how many saints of God 
Who breathed their souls out on the well-loved tones. 
Again I see those circling, eager faces; 
I hear once more the solemn-urging words 
That tell the things of God in simple phrase; 
Again the deep-voiced, reverent prayer ascends, 
Bringing to the still summer afternoon 
A sense of the eternal. As he preached 
He lived; unselfish, famelessly heroic. 
For even in mid-career, with life still full, 
His was the glorious privilege and choice 



360 IN THE RIGHTS 

Deliberately tp give that life away 

For country and for comrades; for he knew 

No rule but duty, no reward but Christ. 

m 

Increase thy prophets, Lord! give strength to smite 
Shame to the heart of luxury and sloth! 
Give them the yearning after human souls 
That burned in Wesley's breast! Through them, great 

God! 
Teach poverty it may be rich in Thee; 
Teach riches the true wealth of Thine own spirit. 
To our loved land, Celestial Purity! 
Bring back the meaning of those ancient words, — 
Not lost but soiled, and darkly disesteemed, — 
The ever sacred names of husband, wife, 
And the great name of Love, whereon is built 
The temple of human happiness and hope ! 
Baptize with holy wrath thy prophets. Lord! 
By them purge from us this corruption foul 
That seizes on our civic governments. 
Crowns the corrupter in the sight of men, 
And makes him maker of laws, and honor's source! 

Help us, in memory of the sainted dead. 
Help us, O Heaven! to frame a nobler state, 
In nobler Hves rededicate to Thee : 
Symbol and part of the large brotherhood 
Of man and nations; one in one great love, 
True love of God, which is the love of man, 
In sacrifice and mutual service shown. 

Let kindle, as before, O Heavenly Light ! 
New messengers of righteousness, and hope. 
And courage, for our day ! So shall the world 
That ever, surely, climbs to Thy desire 
Grow swifter toward Thy purpose and intent. 



A TEMPLE OF ART 361 

A TEMPLE OF ART 

WRITTEN FOR THE OPENING OF THE ALBRIGHT ART 
GALLERY, BUFFALO, MAY 3 1, I905 

I 

Slowly to the day the rose, 

The moon-flower suddenly to the night, 

Their mysteries of h'ght 

In innocence unclose, 

n 

In this garden of delight, 

This pillared temple, pure and white. 

We plant the seed of art. 

With mystic power 

To bring, or sudden or slow, the perfect flower, 

That cheers and comforts the sad human heart; 

That brings to man high thought 

From starry regions caught, 

And sweet, unconscious nobleness of deed; 

So he may never lose his childhood's joyful creed. 

While years and sorrows to sorrows and years succeed. 

Ill 

Tho' thick the cloud that hides the unseen life 

Before we were and after we shall be. 

Here in this fragment of eternity; 

And heavy is the burden and the strife — 

The universe, we know, in beauty had its birth; 

The day in beauty dawns, in beauty dies. 

With intense. color of the sea and skies; 

And life, for all its rapine, with beauty floods the earth. 

Lovely the birds, and their true song. 

Amid the murmurous leaves, the summer long. 



362 IN THE HIGHTS 

Whate'er the baffling power 

Sent anger and earthquake and a thousand ills, 

It made the violet flower, 

And the wide world with breathless beauty thrills. 

IV 

Who built the world made man 

With power to build and plan, 

A soul all loveliness to love, 

Blossom below and lucent blue above, 

And new unending beauty to contrive. 

He, the creature, may not make 

Beautiful beings all alive — 

Irised moth nor mottled snake. 

The lily's splendor. 

The light of glances infinitely tender, 

Nor the day's dying glow nor flush of morn, 

And yet his handiwork the angels shall not scorn, 

When he hath wrought in truth and by Heaven's law, 

In lowliness and awe. 

Bravely shall he labor, while from his pure hands 

Spring fresh wonders, spread new lands; 

Son of God, no longer child of fate, 

Like God he shall create. 



When, weary ages hence, this wrong world is set right: 

When brotherhood is real 

And all that justice can for man is done; 

When the fair, fleeing, anguished-for ideal 

Turns actual at last; and 'neath the sun 

Man hath no human foe; 

And even the brazen sky, and storms that blow, 

And all the elements have friendlier proved, 



A TEMPLE OF ART 363 

By human wit to human uses moved — 

Ah, still shall art endure, 

And beauty's light and lure, 

To keep man noble, and make life delight, 

Tho' shadows backward fall from the engulfing night. 

VI 

In a world of little aims, 
Sordid hopes and futile fames, 
Spirit of Beauty ! high thy place 
In the fashioning of the race. 
In this temple, built to thee, 
We thy worshipers would be. 
Lifting up, all undefiled. 
Hearts as lowly as a child; 
Humble to be taught and led 
And on celestial manna fed; 
So to take into our lives 
Something that from Heaven derives. 



THE FIRE DIVINE 



THE FIRE DIVINE 



THE FIRE DIVINE 

He who hath the sacred fire 

Hidden in his heart of hearts, 

It shall burn him clean and pure, 

Make him conquer, make endure. 

He to all things may aspire, 

King of days, and souls, and arts. 

Failure, fright, and dumb dismay 

Are but wings upon his way. 

Imagination and desire 

Are his slaves and implements. 

Faiths and foul calamities. 

And the eternal ironies, 

Are but voices in his choir. 

Musician of decreed events — 

Hungers, happinesses, hates, 

Friendships lost, all adverse fates, 

All passions and all elements, 

Are but golden instruments 

In his glorious symphonies. 

Subject to his firm decrees 

Are the heavens, are the seas; 

But in utter humbleness 

Reigns he, not to ban, but bless — 

Cleansed, and conquering, and benign 

Bearer of the fire divine. 



368 THE FIRE DIVINE 

THE INVISIBLE 

(at 'a lecture) 

Such pictures of the heavens were never seen. 
We stood at the steep edge of the abyss 
And looked out on the making of the suns. 
The skies were powdered with the white of stars 
And the pale ghosts of systems yet to be; 
While here and there a nebulous spiral told, 
Against the dark, the story of the orbs — 
From the impalpable condensing slow 
Through ages infinite. 

Each mighty shape 
Seemed as the shape of speed — a whirling wheel 
Stupendously revolving, 
And yet no eye of man may see it stir. 
(That moveless motion brings to the human brain 
A hint of the large measurements of time — 
Eternity made present.) 

Such new sense 
Of magnitudes that make our world an atom 
Might crush the soul, did not this saving thought 
Leap to the mind and lift it to clear hights: — 
" 'T is but the unseen that grows not old nor dies, 
Suffers not change, nor waning, nor decay. 
This that we see — this casual glimpse within 
The seething pit of space; these million stars 
And worlds in making, these are naught but matter; 
These all are but the dust upon our feet, 
And we who gaze forth fearless on the sight 
Find not one equal, facing from the vast 
Our sentient selves. Not one, sole, lonely star 
In all the infinite glitter and deep light 
Can make one conscious movement; all are slaves 



THE OLD FAITH 369 

To law material, immutable — 

That Power immense, mysterious, intense, 

Unseen as our own souls, but which must be 

Like them the home of thought, with will and might 

To stamp on mindless matter the soul's will. 

Yea, in these souls of ours triumphant dwells 

Some segment of the large creative Power — 

A thing beyond the things of sight and sense; 

A strength to think, a force to conquer force. 

One are we with the ever-living One." 

DESTINY 
(after reading a work on astronomy) 

I SEE it all ; my soul the dregs hath drunk 
Of man's last, helpless, hopeless destiny; 
Born of the primal ooze, where slow light sunk, 
And climbing to the secrets of the sky; 

Through countless million years the spiral mounts 
Till nature, a companionable slave. 
Bows to man's bidding; lo, then, the deep founts 
Run gradual dry, earth turns its own chill grave: 

The insatiate desert marches on the sown, 
The sea exhales, the very air is gone. 
And, gasping in the silent void, the race 

Dies with the planet. — But not this the doom 
Of man's outlooking soul ; that hath no tomb. 
Being quenchless as the law and lord of space. 

THE OLD FAITH 

On that old faith I will take hold once more — 
Now that the long waves bear me to the shore 
And life's brief voyage is o'er; 



370 THE FIRE DIVINE 

Near is the looked-for land — 
One wild leap on the strand 
And the dear souls I loved of old 
I shall again behold, 
And arms that held me once shall hold again. 

In blinding ways of men 
Long did I mourning doubt, 
Saying: "Into the universe have they gone out 
And shall be lost 

In the wide waves of unseen, infinite force; 
For nature heeds not all the bitter cost, 
But rushes on its course 
Unto the far, determined goal, 
Without self-conscious knowledge, or remorse." 
But now the time is come, the test draws near, 
And sudden my soul is innocent of fear. 

O ye beloved! I come! I cry 
With the old passion ye shall not deny! 
I know you, as I knew 
When life was in its dew; 
Ah, naught of me has sufifered inward change, 
Nor can be change essential even in you, 
However far the freer spirit's range. 
Soul shall find soul; there is no distance 
That bars love's brave insistence, 
And nothing truly dies 
In all the infinite realm of woe and weal; 
Throughout creation's bound thrill answers thrill 
And love to love replies. 

THE DOUBTER'S SOLILOQUY 

A WHITE lie, even as the black, I learned to hate; 
Being taught clear truth by honest parentage, 



THE DOUBTER'S SOLILOQUY 371 

And, haply, somewhat morbid in this matter. 

'T would come, I fear, not easy to deceive 

Even death-beds, for their good, that men, indeed, 

Might, as they say, "die happy." (Not that I 

Have never eased, by httle lies that helped, — 

Being gray with years, — to smooth a neighbor's path, 

Or even mine own.) And when I've read brave tales 

Wherein the hero like a hero lied, 

And saved the other hero from some shame. 

Or loss, or ill that seemed itself a lie. 

Such tragi-comedies, I've thought, mayhap 

Argued a sophist mind in them who wrote. 

Once reading such a pretty history 
The thought came on me with a sickening stroke: 
" But what* of all the martyrs who died singing, 
Smiling and singing in the face of pain, 
Of tortured, useless death; seeing just beyond 
The flame, the scorch, the shudder — sudden joy; 
Joy so intense it threw a splendor back 
Into the midst of unfelt agonies! 
And what of those, the unknown martyrdoms, 
The myriads of faithful, humble souls 
Who horribly suffered through long, faithful lives, 
Seeing the peace of God beyond the strife! 
What of all these if there be no awakening? 
If He permitted the Colossal Lie 
As opiate for the agony of life — 
Who were the sophist then?'* 

But a voice spake 
And said : " Your argument requires a God 
All powerful, all present, and all wise, 
Who could prevent false notions of Himself 
And His designs to fasten on men's minds. 
If such a God exists, this is most sure — 



372 THE FIRE DIVINE 

He wills not to make plain His character 

And mode of government; witness through time 

A thousand gods, religions without end, 

Each in some souls, — all reverent and sincere, — 

Supreme, unquestioned; gods that grimly held 

Races and ages round about their thrones. 

" Your very doubt creates a mighty Power, 
Invisible, yet having human traits. 
And Him you judge with your sole, finite mind — 
You doubt, you dread, you trouble your sad soul. 
Were it not best to follow those twin stars 
Which light each mortal path: the double stars 
Of Love and Duty? If by these you walk 
(This has been proved), a solace shall arrive — 
A noble solace, a majestic joy. 
Whatever of life is worthy of the soul 
Then shall be yours. Disdain, disdain all else!" 

LAW 

True love to liberty is never foe, 
And he who truly loves is truly free: 
Thus thought I when I heard the pulsing flow 
Of mighty music rushing gloriously 

Along the channels of unchanging law; 

Thus thought I when I gazed upon the skies 
And there the circling universe I saw 
Moving obedient in glad harmonies 

About a central, inescapable power: 

No sun, nor planet, nor wild comet's course 
But owns that sway in every separate hour 

Of all its centuries; to that one force 

Freely it yields, — as hearts that never rove, 
But pour their being in a single love. 



IDENTITY 373 

IDENTITY 

And can it be? 

The heart that in the earth's far dawn knew God; 

The thought that seized the circling of the stars; 

The soul of fire that on that hill of Athens 

Builded immortal beauty; the brain enorm 

That peopled for all men and for all time 

A world Shakespearian ; and can it be ? — 

The mind imperial named Beethoven, 

Majestically chanting harmonies 

That hold the motions of the rhythmic worlds, 

And to far doomsday stir all living hearts;^ 

And he the framer of earth's mightiest dome, 

Painter sublime and poet marvelous, 

Who carved the likeness of his soul in stone, 

And in cold marble the hot heart of man 

Imprisoned eternally ; and can it be ? — 

These, these and all the potencies of time 

Which throbbed in human form; and can it be 

That the intensive fire which made them men, 

Not trees, nor creeping beasts, nor stones, nor stars. 

And gave identity to every soul 

Making it individual and alone 

Among the myriads; and can it be 

That, when the mortal framework failed, this fire, — 

Which flamed in separate and lonely life, — 

These souls, slipt out of being and were lost, 

Eternally extinguished and cast out: 

Only to some obscure electric wave 

Giving new force, to some stray flower new grace, 

Unto some lover's vow more ardency ; 

Making some island sunset more intense, 

Passing from fiery thought to chemic heat — 



374 THE FIRE DIVINE 

But all the universe empty of that one high 
And exquisite accomplishment and power, 
Forever and forever — can it be ? 



"SPARE ME MY DREAMS' 



Relentless Time, that gives both harsh and kind, 

Brave let me be 
To take thy various gifts with equal mind, 

And proud humility; 
But, even by day, while the full sunlight streams. 
Give me my dreams! 



Whatever, Time, thou takest from my heart. 

What from my life, 
From what dear thing thou yet may'st make me part 

Plunge not too deep the knife; 
As dies the day, and the long twilight gleams, 
Spare me my dreams! 

HYMN 

(thanksgiving for saints and prophets) 

To Thee, Eternal Soul, be praise! 
Who, from of old to our own days 
Through souls of saints and prophets, Lord, 
Hast sent Thy light, Thy love. Thy word. 

We thank Thee for each mighty one 
Through whom Thy living light hath shone; 
And for each humble soul and sweet 
That lights to heaven our wandering feet. 



THE VALLEY OF LIFE 375 

We thank Thee for the love divine 
Made real in every saint of Thine; 
That boundless love itself that gives 
In service to each soul that lives. 

We thank Thee for the word of might 
The Spirit spake in darkest night; 
Spake through the trumpet voices loud 
Of prophets at Thy throne who bowed. 

Eternal Soul, our souls keep pure, 
That like Thy saints we may endure; 
Forever through Thy servants, Lord, 
Send Thou Thy light, Thy love, Thy word. 

THE VALLEY OF LIFE 

When I was a child joyfully I ran, hand claspt in 
hand, now with my mother, now with my father, or with 
younger, blithe companions, now in sunlight, now in 
shadow and dread, through the strange new Valley of 
Life. 

Sometimes on the high-road, then over the fields and 
meadows, or through the solemn forests; sometimes along 
the happy brook-side, listening to its music or the clamor 
of the falls, as the pleasant waters hurried or grew still, 
in the winding way down the Valley of Life. 

And as we moved along, hand claspt in hand, sometimes 
the hand-clasp was broken, and I, a happy child, ran 
swiftly aside from the path to gather flower or fruit or get 
sight of a singing bird; or to lean down and pluck a pearly 
stone from under the lapping waves; or climbed a tree 
and swayed, shouting, on its waving boughs — then 
returning to the clasp of loving hands, and so passing on 
and on down the opening Valley of Life. 



376 THE FIRE DIVINE 

In the bright morning I walked wondering; wondering 
I walked through the still twilight and many-colored 
sunset; watching the great stars gather, and lost in the 
mystery of worlds beyond number, and spaces beyond 
thought, till, side by side, we lay down to sleep under the 
stars in the Valley of Life and of Dreams. 

Then there came a time when the hands that held me, 

— the loving hands that guided my steps and drew me 
gently on, — turned cold, and slipt from my grasp; I 
waited, but they came not back, and slowly and alone 
I plodded on down the Valley of Life and of Death. 

"Where went they?" I asked my heart and the 
whispering waters and the sighing trees. " Where went 
my loving and well-beloved guides? Did they climb the 
hills and tarry; did they, tired, lie down to sleep and for- 
get me forever; leaving me to journey on without their 
dear care down the long Valley of Life?" 

I could not know, for I heard no answer except my own 
heart's beating. But other comrades came, — one dearer 
than all, — and as time went on I felt the little hands of 
my own children clasping mine while, once more happy 
and elate, with them I traveled down the miraculous Val- 
ley of Life. 

But, as on we wander, hearing their bright voices, and 
seeing their joy upon the way, — their happy chasings 
here and there, their eager run to hold again our hands, 

— how soon, I think, shall I feel the slipping away of the 
clasping fingers while I fall asleep by the wayside, or 
climb the cloud-enveloped hills, and leave those I love 
to journey on down the lonely Valley of Life? 

And I say : " Surely the day and the hour hasten ; grief 
will be theirs for a season ; then will they, as did I, with 
brave hearts journey on the appointed way." But where 
then shall my spirit rest ? Will it sink unconscious into 



TO ONE IMPATIENT OF FORM IN ART 377 

endless night? or shall I, in some new dawn, and by some 
unimagined miracle not less than that which brought me 
here, wander, with those that led me once, and those I 
led, hand claspt in hand, as of old, by the murmuring 
waters and under the singing trees of the ever- wonderful, 
the never-ending Valley of Life? 



TO ONE IMPATIENT OF FORM IN ART 

I 

Chide not the poet that he strives for beauty, 
If still forthright he chants the thing he would — 

If still he knows, nor can escape, the dire 
Necessity and burden of straight speech ; 

Not his the fault should music haunt the stroke, 
When to the marrow cleaves the lyric knife. 

Who poured the violent ocean, and who called 
Earthquake and tempest and the crash of doom, 

He spread the sea all beautiful at dawn. 

And curved the bright bow 'gainst the black, spent storm; 

He framed these late and lovely violets 
That under autumn leaves surprise the heart. 

Blame not the seeker of beauty if his soul 
Seeks it, in reverent and determined quest, 

And in the sacred love of loveliness 

Which God, the all-giver, gave — and satisfies; 

Fearing lest he match not life's poignant breath 
And the keen beauty of the blossoming day. 



378 THE FIRE DIVINE 

II 

No poet he who knows not the great joy 
That pulses in the flow and rush of rhythm, — 

Rhythm which is the seed and Hfe of Hfe, 

And of all art the root, and branch, and bloom, — 

Knows not the strength that comes when vibrant thought 
Beats 'gainst the bounds of fixed time and space; 

For law unto the master is pure freedom. 
The prison-house a garden of delight. 

So doth the blown breath from the bugle's walls 
Issue in most triumphant melody; 

So doth the impassioned poet's perfect verse, 
Confined in law eternal, mate the stars. 

TO THE POET 

Let not thy listening spirit be abashed 

By the majestic ranks of ancient bards 

Or all the clarion singers of thy day : 

For in thy true and individual song 

Thou art a voice of nature; as the wind, 

And cries of moving waters, and all shows 

And speaking symbols of the universe 

Are but the glorious sound and utterance 

Of the mysterious power that spake the Word — 

The immense first word that filled with splendid light 

And vibrant potency the house of life; 

Whose candles are a million, million stars. 

Whose windows look on gulfs unthinkable 

That bound our world. Think not on thine own self, 



COMPENSATION 379 

But on the enormous currents silently 
That flood the unseen channels of still force, 
Or with the sound of earthquake and the shout 
Of circling storms complete an unknown doom. 

Thine is the fate and function mystical, 
In forms of lyric and eternal art, 
Clearly to utter and re-syllable 
The primal Word : — So is thy verse of kin 
To the sea-shell, the lily, and the leaf. 
It hath a natural right and majesty, 
Being of the infinite, all-evolving power 
True jet and symbol; kin to the morning star 
That in the sky of dawn sings with its mates. 

COMPENSATION 

The Angel of Life stood forth on the threshold of Birth 
And converse held with a spirit about to be born; 
And the Angel announced to the Soul awaiting its world: 
Choose thou ! for now thou must choose, and never here- 
after. 
And if thou to beauty shalt bow, to Beauty and Art, 
And if to thy spirit all exquisite things be revealed, 
If the fate of the poet be thine, if a god thou wouldst be. 
If thou in thy soul wouldst joyfully seize and encompass 
The glories and grandeurs of earth, the sweetness supreme, 
The vision angelic, forbidden to eyes unanointed, 
The melodies silent to all save the holy of spirit. 
The signs and the secrets, the splendors, the exaltations. 
If these thou shalt choose, if these thou wouldst know 

and impart. 
Even so — but forget not the price of the infinite wisdom. 
For the price of the passion of joy is the passion of sorrow. 
And the cost of thy heaven is the burning and anguish of 
heU. 



380 THE FIRE DIVINE 

THE POET'S SECRET 

The secret — he has learned it 

And only, only he: 
Heaven in his heart hath burned it; 

To him alone 't is free, 
And them from him who learned it 

In wise simplicity. 
From thousand suns it flashes, 

It leaps in flower and flame; 
The spring, from winter's ashes, 

Cries out its silent name — 
The secret of the ages 

That, to the poet came. 
Unknown to all the sages, 

However wise they be. 
Through his quick veins it rages 

And soul of ecstasy; 
It lightnings from his pages, 

In all his songs 't is sung: 
The secret of the ages — 

To be forever young. 

**THE DAY BEGAN AS OTHER DAYS BEGIN" 

The day began as other days begin, 

The round of work, the implacable city's din; 

The New World's Babel, louder with each hour. 

Then in a by-way, — a still, secret bower, — 
A temple given to silence and to books; 
And in its heart a sacred nook of nooks. 
There, in the silence, from a priceless store 
Of written tomes, a guardian of their lore 
A manuscript uplifted to my view. 
With reverent, loving hands — and then withdrew. 



A poet's question 381 

Opening the book my gaze fell on that line 
Wherein the marvelous poet, the divine 
Singer of Endymion, his deathless song 
Began, and so beginning made immortal. 

O dead, undying bard! now all the wrong 
Fate did thee rose; through Memory's draped portal 
Trooped, in wan figures, all thy tragic story — 
But mightier still the wonder and the glory 
Of that white page whereon thy soul was poured. 
Then with thy spirit my spirit likewise soared; 
Something immortal entered in this breast 
Miraculously; and like one confessed 
And throughly shriven, back to the world I turned 
While a new heart within me flamed and burned. 

And yet that morn, when grew the glare and din, 
The day began, as other days begin. 



A POET'S QUESTION 

What, then, shall make these songs of mine more real; 

More tuneful, piercing, bright — miraculous. 

As art should be? Shall some high, fortunate chant, 

Some song to come, flood backward on them all, — 

Over every word in all the singing flock, — 

A light, a meaning; a power to seize, to thrill; 

A swift beatitude and haunting beauty; 

Shall make of them a trouble to the base, 

Scourge to the false, sun to the darkened soul, 

Help to the fainting, succor to the bruised, 

A judgment to the heeding and unheeding? 

Or shall a flame leap from the singer's flight. 

Making them luminous in sudden dawn — 

Bright in the chrism of Death. 



382 THE FIRE DIVINE 

PRELUDE FOR "A BOOK OF MUSIC 

Without intent, I find a book I've writ 
And music is the pleasant theme of it; 
For tho' I can no music make, I trust 
Here's proof I love it. 

Tho' no reasoning fine 
Should any ask to show this art divine, 
Yet have I known even poets who refuse 
To name pure music as an equal muse. 
If music pleased them, 't was not deeply felt, 
And in its charms they deemed it shame to melt; 
For that, they held, it is an art where might 
Even children give its votaries delight. 
And therefore lacking in the things of mind. 

But 't is not argued well. There is a kind 
Of music that a little child can give. 
Echoing great masters; but the masters live 
Not in such echo — elfish, immature; 
'T is but a part of them. Ah, be ye sure 
Tho' lovely, not the loveliest; that must wait 
For him who noble moods can recreate 
With solemn, subtile, and deep-thoughted art 
That wins the mind or e'er it takes the heart. 
For that a child may gracious music make 
Is but a sign that music doth partake 
Of something deep, primeval, that began 
When God dreamed of Himself, and fashioned man. 
'T is near the source of being ; it repeats 
The vibrancy that runs in rhythmic beats 
Through all the shaken universe; and tho' 
Its language shall take not the ebb and flow 
Of speech articulate, it is that tone 



PRELUDE FOR ''A BOOK OF MUSIC " ^S;^ 

Cleaves closer to lifers core; the thing alone 
Well-nigh it is, not thought about the thing; 
No pictured flight across a painted sky — 
The bird itself, the beating of its wing; 
The pang that is a cry; 
Not human language, but pure ecstasy. 

In this my Book of Music which hath come 
As does a lover's Htany by some 
Miraculous chance, with added song to song, 
I trust I have my Lady done no wrong, 
My Lady of Melody I worshipt long. 

Blameless the artist praises the sweet rose 
If in his art he aim not to compose 
An image, all inanimate, that seeks 
To copy shrewdly those inviolate cheeks 
Or the rich, natural odor imitate; 
But shows, as best he can, its grace and state. 
The love that in him burns for this fair flower, 
And all his joy therein, for one sweet hour. 
Nor shall the poet subtly strive to phrase 
For any heart save his what music says; 
For, — as before the autumn skies and woods, — 
A meaning gleams through our own human moods : 
Yet is the meaning real; and many a wound 
Wherewith our spirits are beaten to the ground 
Heals 'neath the sanctity of noble sound. 

Ah, not to match the music of the wires 
Or trembling breath, the instruments and choirs, 
But to tell truly how that moves the soul 
In the impassionate and rhythmic word. 
By poesy's proper art — which must be heard 



384 THE FIRE DIVINE 

Even as music is! Not to forget 
The viol and the harp, the clarinet, 
The booming organ; too, the intertwined 
Voices wherewith the sounding, rich clavier, 
Struck by the master's hand, enchants the ear — 
If so may be to catch a fleeting strain 
And in new art imprison it again ! 
Then let him list to music who would rhyme; 
For every art, tho' separate, may learn, 
From the great souls in all, how to make burn 
Brighter the light of beauty through all time. 
And scorn not thou to read of music's power 
Over one soul that in great humbleness 
His memory brings of many a happy hour, 
Hoping these echoed tones some wounded heart may 
bless. 

MUSIC AT TWILIGHT 



O, GIVE me music in the twilight hour ! 
Then, skilled musician! thou of the magic power, 
Summon the souls of masters long since gone 
Who through thine art live on! 

As the day dies I would once more respire 
The passion of that spirit whose keen fire 
Flashes and flames in yearning and unrest 
And never-ending quest. 

Or listen to the quick, electric tones. 
Or moods of majesty, of him who owns 
The secret of the thrill that shakes the earth 
And moves the stars in mirth 



MUSIC AT TWILIGHT 385 

And I would walk the shore of sound with him 
Whose voice was as the voice of cherubim : 
Musician most authentic and sublime 
Of all the sons of time. 

Bring their deep joys, the breath of solitudes, 
Dear dreams and longings, and high, hero moods; 
Ay, bring me their melodious despairs 
To die in twilight airs. 

For, given a rhythmic voice, re-uttered so, 
Sorrow itself is lost in the large flow 
Of nature ; and of life is made such part 
As doth enrich the heart; 

And on the tide of music, to my soul 
Shall enter beauty's solace — life be whole, 
Not broken by chords discordant, but most sweet. 
In sequent tones complete. 

II 

Great is the true interpreter, for like 
No other art, two sentient souls must strike 
The spark of music that in blackness lies 
'Mid silent harmonies, 

Till, at a cunning touch, the long-lost theme 
Newly imagined, and new-born in dream, 
Clothed gloriously in garment of sweet sound 
Wakes from its darkened swound. 

So would I ask. Musician ! of thy grace 
That thou wouldst bless and sanctify the place 
With august harmonies^ well-loved of old; — 
But from thy manifold 



386 THE riRE DIVINE 

Miraculous memory fail not of thine own 
Imaginings enraptured of pure tone, 
That I may nearer draw to music's shrine, 
And mystery divine. 



MUSIC IN MOONLIGHT 

Was ever music lovelier than to-night? 

'Twas Schumann's Song of Moonlight; o'er the vale 

The new moon lingered near the western hills; 

The hearth-fire glimmered low; but melting tones 

Blotted all else from memory and thought, 

And all the world was music. Wondrous hour! 

Then sank anew into our tranced hearts 

One secret and deep lesson of sweet sound — 

The loveliness that from unloveliness 

Outsprings, flooding the soul with poignant joy, 

As the harmonious chords to harsh succeed. 

And the rapt spirit climbs through pain to bliss: 

Eternal question, answer infinite; 

As day to night replies; as light to shade; 

As summer to rough winter ; death to life — 

Death not a closing, but an opening door; 

A deepened life, a prophecy fulfilled. 

Not in the very present comes reply, 
But in the flow of time. Should the song cease 
Too soon; ere yet the rooted answer blooms, 
Lo, what a pang of loss and dissonance ! 
But time with the resolving and intended tone 
Heals all, and makes all beautiful and right. 
Even so our mortal music-makers frame 
Their messages melodious to men; 
Even so the Eternal His high harmonies 
Fashions, supreme, of life, and fate, and time. 



THE VOICE 387 

THE UNKNOWN SINGER 

One singer in the oratorio, 

Her only did I see, nor can forget; 

Nor knew her name, nor have I seen her more, 

Nor could I in the chorus find her voice. 

Her swaying, gracious form, her face alight 

As with an inner flame of melody — 

These seized me; seemed the white embodiment 

Of all the angelic voices richly poured 

In a great rushing and harmonious flood. 

That human form, all beautiful and bright. 

Lived the pure, conscious, glorious instrument 

Wherethrough the master made his message felt — 

Conscious, but with no shallow vanity, 

A breathing image of a thought in sound, 

A living statue, symbol of a tone. 

That which she sang she was; and, unaware, 

Made music visible not less than heard. 

THE VOICE 

Rich is the music of sweet instruments, — 
The separate harp, cornet, oboe, and flute, 
The deep-souled viola, the 'cello grave, 
The many-mooded, singing violin. 
The infinite, triumphing, ivoried clavier; 
And when, with art mysterious, some god 
Thrills into one the lone and various tones, 
Then is no hiding passion of the heart. 
No sigh of evening winds, no breath of dawn, 
No hope or hate of man that is not told. 

But when a human voice leaps from that surge, 
'T is as a flower that bursts from th' trembling earth; 



388 THE FIRE DIVINE 

Something more wonderful assails the soul, 
As, with exultant cries, up-curving, swift. 
The shrill Walkiire clamor against the sky, 
Or pale Briinhilde moans her bitter fate. 



WAGNER 

This is the eternal mystery of art : 
He told the secretest secret of his heart — 
How many mortals, with quick-flaming brow, 
Whispered, " Lo, this am I — and that art thou ! " 

"THE PATHETIC SYMPHONY" 

(tschaikowsky) 

When the last movement fell, I thought : Ah, me ! 

Death this indeed; but still the music poured 

On and still on. O, deathlier it grew, 

And then, at last, my beating heart stood still — 

Beyond all natural grief the music passing, 

Beyond all tragedy, or last farewell. 

Then, on that fatal tide, dismayed I felt 

This living soul, my own, without one tear. 

Slowly, irrevocably, and alone. 

Enter the ultimate silence and the dark. 

MACDOWELL 

Rejoice! Rejoice! 

The New World hath a voice; 

A voice of tragedy and mirth, 

Sounding clear through all the earth; 

A voice of music, tender and sublime, 

Kin to the master-music of all time. 



A FANTASY OF CHOPIN 389 

Hear ye, and know, — 
While the chords throb with poignant pause and flow, — 
Of the New World the mystic, lyric heart. 
Breathed in undaunted art: 
Her pomp of days, her glittering nights; 
The rich surprise 
And miracle of iridescent skies; 
Her lovely lowlands and imperial hights; 
Her glooms and gladness; 
Her oceans thundering on a thousand shores; 
Her wild- wood madness; 

Her streams adream with memory that deplores 
The red inhabitants evanished and undone 
That follow, follow to far lands beyond the setting 

sun. 
And echoes one may hear of ancient lores 
From the Old World's well-loved shores — 
Primal loves, and quenchless hates; 
Striving lives, and conquering fates; 
Elves innocently antic 
Or wild-eyed, frantic; 
Shadow-heroes, passionate, gigantic — 
Sons and daughters of the prime 
That moved the mighty bards to noble rhyme. 

Rejoice! Rejoice! 
The New World hath new music, and a voice. 

A FANTASY OF CHOPIN 

(gabrilov^^itsch) 

Lightnings and tremblings and a voice of thunder; 

But when the winds are down, and spent the showers — 
At the vast mountain's base, the sheer cliffs under. 

How sweet the summer flowers! 



390 THE FIRE DIVINE 

"HOW STRANGE THE MUSICIAN'S MEMORY" 

How strange the musician's memory, never wrong 
In symphony, sonata, fugue, or song! 
Sees he the score with wide, unseeing eyes. 
Or is it sound his heart doth memorize? 
What is it Hke? Behold, from out the west, 
The long hght on the wild wave's flying crest. 
See the swift gleam rush up the leaning strand 
And die in foam upon the singing sand. 

"IN A NIGHT OF MIDSUMMER" 

In a night of midsummer, on the still eastern shore of 
the ocean inlet, 

In our hearts a sense of the inaudible pulsings of the 
unseen, infinite sea. 

Suddenly through the clear, cool air, arose the voice of 
a wonderful tenor; soaring and sobbing in the music of 
"Otello." 

I knew that the singer was long dead; I knew well that 
it was not his living voice; 

And yet truly it was as the voice of a living man ; tho' 
heard as through a veil, still was it human; still was it 
living; still was it tragic; 

Still felt I the fire of the spirit of a man ; I was moved 
by the passion of his art; I perceived the flower and 
essence of his person; the exquisite expression of his 
mind and soul; 

His soul it was that seized my soul, through his voice, 
which was as the very voice of sorrow; 

And then I thought : If man, by science and search- 
ing, can build a cunning instrument that takes over and 
keeps, beyond the term of human existence, the essence 
and flower of a man's art; 



JOHN PAUL JONES 39 1 

If he can recreate that most individual attribute, his 
articulate and musical voice, and thus the very art and 
passion which that voice conveys, 

Why may not the Supreme Artificer, when the human 
body is utterly dissolved and dispersed, recover and keep 
forever, in some new and delicate structure, the living 
soul itself? 

IN THE WHITE MOUNTAINS 

Mountains in whose vast shadows live great names, 

On whose firm pillars rest mysterious dawns. 

And sunsets that redream the apocalypse; 

A world of billowing green that, veil on veil. 

Turns a blue mist and melts in lucent skies; 

A silent world, save for slow waves of wind. 

Or sudden, hollow clamor of huge rocks 

Beaten by valleyed waters manifold; — 

Airs that to breathe is life and joyousness; 

Days dying into music; nights whose stars 

Shine near, and large, and lustrous; these, O these, 

These are for memory to life's ending hour. 

JOHN PAUL JONES 

I 
Behold our first great warrior of the sea 
Who, in our war to make the half world free. 
His knightly sword in noble anger drew! 
Born to the Old, he visioned clear the New. 

n 

Born to the New — and shall we lose our faith 
And mourn for freedom as a fleeing wraith? 
Or heroes swift as he, and valorous, find 
In bloodless battles of the unfettered mind! 



392 THE FIRE DIVINE 

TO EMMA LAZARUS 

(1905) 

Dear bard and prophet, that thy rest is deep 

Thanks be to God ! Not now on thy heart falls 

Rumor intolerable. Sleep, O sleep! 

See not the blood of Israel that crawls, 
Warm yet, into the noon and night; that cries 

Even as of old, till all the world stands still 

At rapine that even to Israel's agonies 

Seems strange and monstrous, a mad dream of ill. 
Thou sleepest! Yea, but as in grief we said: 

There is a spiritual life unconquerable; 

So, bard of the ancient people, tho' being dead 
Thou speakest, and thy voice we love full well. 

Never thy holy memory forsakes us; 

Thy spirit is the trumpet that awakes us! 

CARL SCHURZ 

In youth he braved a monarch's ire 

To set the people's poet free; 
Then gave his life, his fame, his fire 

To the long praise of liberty. 

His life, his fame, his all he gave 
That not on earth should live one slave; 
True freedom of the soul he sought 
And in that battle well he fought. 

He fought, and yet he loved not war, 
But looked and labored for the day 

When the loud cannon silent are 
And holy peace alone hath sway. 



GEORGE MACDONALD 393 

Ah, what a life ! From youth to age 
Keeping the faith, in noble rage. 
Ah, what a life ! From knightly youth 
Servant and champion of the truth. 

Not once, in all his length of days, 
That falchion flashed for paltry ends; 

So wise, so pure, his words and ways, 
Even those he conquered rose his friends. 

For went no rancor with the blow; 
The wrong and not the man, his foe. 
He smote not meanly, not in wrath; 
That truth might speed he cleaved a path. 

The lure of place he well could scorn 
Who knew a mightier joy and fate — 

The passion of the hope forlorn, 
The luxury of being great, 

The deep content of souls serene 
Who gain or lose with equal mien ; 
Defeat his spirit not subdued 
Nor victory marred his noble mood. 

GEORGE MACDONALD 

Ah, loving, exquisite, enraptured soul. 

Who wert to me a father and a friend; 

Who imaged and brought near, all humanly, 

The sweetness and the majesty of him 

Who in Judea melted human hearts, 

And won the world by loveliness and love ; 

Dear spirit, who to the Infinite Purity 

Past, without change, and humbly unabashed — 



394 THE FIRE DIVINE 

If farewell we must say, it is that thou 

So far beyond, above, we, — alien so 

From grace like thine, — may hardly follow close 

Thy shining feet in fields of endless light 

When to the goal of souls reborn we pass. 

Yet couldst thou not rest happy in that world 
Thou saw'st with eyes anointed, near that Christ 
Who was to thee a human brother and friend. 
If we, thy brothers, with thee came not nigh. 

If ever saint with the Eternal strove, 
Then wouldst thou, wilt thou, strive and supplicate 
That not one soul be lost or suffer ill, 
If so may be, but win to the Infinite Love 
That was the faith, strength, life of all thy days. 

Our hearts are heavy; O, yet give we thanks, 
As thou didst give when died one dear to thee, 
Thanks that thou livedst — that we knew and loved, 
Even in the flesh, one who was one with God. 

JOSEPHINE SHAW LOWELL 

It was but yesterday she walked these streets, 
Making them holier. How many years, 
With all her widowed love, immeasurably 
She ministered unto the abused and stricken, 
And all the oppressed and suffering of mankind; 
Herself forgetting, but never those in need; 
Her whole, sweet soul lost in her loving work ; 
Pondering the endless problem of the poor. 

In ceaseless labor, swift, unhurriedly, 
She sped upon her tireless ministries, 
Climbing the stairs of poverty and wrong, 



JOSEPHINE SHAW LOWELL 395 

Endeavoring the help that shall not hurt, 
Seeking to build in every human heart 
A temple of justice — that no brother's burden 
Should heavier prove through human selfishness. 

In memory I see that brooding face 
That now seemed dreaming of the heroic past 
When those most dear to her laid loyal lives 
On the high altar of freedom; and again 
That thinking, inward-lighted countenance 
Drooped, saddened by the pain of humankind, 
Tho' resolute to help where help might be, 
And with undying faith illuminate. 

She was our woman of sorrows, whose pure heart 
Was pierced by many woes; and yet long since 
Her soul of sympathy entered the peace 
And calm eternal of the eternal mind; 
Inheritor of noble lives, she held, 
Even to the end, a spirit of cheerfulness. 
And knowledge keen of the deep joy of being 
By pain all unsubdued. Sister and saint. 
Who to life's darkened passageways brought light, 
Who taught the dignity of human service, 
Who made the city noble by her life, 
And sanctified the very stones her feet 
Prest in their sacred journeys! 

Most High God! 
This city of mammon, this wide, seething pit 
Of avarice and lust, hath known Thy saints. 
And yet shall know. For faith than sin is mightier. 
And by this faith we live — that in Thy time. 
In Thine own time, the good shall crush the ill; 
The brute within the human shall die down; 



39^ THE FIRE DIVINE 

And love and justice reign, where hate prevents - 
That love which in pure hearts reveals Thine own 
And lights the world to righteousness and truth. 

"ONE ROSE OF SONG'* 

(mARY PUTNAM JACOBi) 

One rose of song 
For one sweet deed 
On her grave I fling. 
But, O, how can I sing 
When she takes no heed! 

My rose of song 
For a fragrant deed, 
Tho' she takes no heed, 
Still must I bring. 

Tho' she needs no praise, 
Tho' she hears not my song 
On her journey long 
In the new, strange ways — 
O still must I sing. 
My rose I must fling, 
Just to ease my heart 
Of the sorrow and smart. 

In a far-off land 

She stretched forth her hand 

To me and to mine. 

And now, for a sign. 

This song I sing 

And this rose I bring. 

Tho' she take no heed 
On her journey long. 



LOST LEADERS 397 

Yet a soul shall hear, 
Some soul shall take heed, 
And the rose and the deed, 
They shall sow their seed. 

JOHN MALONE 

This actor in great Shakespeare's shadow moved; 
He thought his thoughts, he Hved in Shakespeare's age. 
His were the tenets of that mighty stage : 
Therefore we mourn; therefore was he beloved. 

"LOST LEADERS" 
I 

"Lost leaders" — no, they are not lost 
Like shrunken leaves the wild wind tost. 
Them only shall we mourn who failed; 
When came the fight — who faltered, quailed. 

n 

Raged not through blood and battle grime 
These heroes of our land and time; 
The foes they fought, with dauntless deed, 
Were shameless vice and maddened greed. 

Ill 

Not lost, not lost the noble dead — 
By them our doubting feet are led. 
Stars of our dark, sun of our day, 
They guide, they light the climbing way. 

IV 

And if, in their celestial flight. 

The mist hath hid those forms from sight. 



398 THE FIRE DIVINE 

Still, down the stormy path, we hear 
Their hero-voices ringing clear. 



Who for their fellows live and die, 
They the immortals are. O sigh 
Not for their loss, but rather praise 
The God that gave them to our days. 

ON A CERTAIN "AGNOSTIC" 

Agnostic! Ah, what idle name for him 

Who knew — not the untruths of fables old. 

Cherished in fear, or arrant ignorance; 

Who knew — not the shrewd structures of keen minds 

Intent on their own shrewdness; losing quite 

The inner truth in outward scaffoldings, 

Cunning appearances, and schemes involved; 

But who knew well the central verity: 

That honest thought followed, without dismay, 

Unto the bitter and accepted end, 

Is the one way to wisdom in this world; 

Who knew not creeds, but could not help but follow 

The feet of him who loved his fellow-men ; 

Who knew that human service is true life; 

Who knew deep friendship, lived this knowledge out, 

As few called " friends" have ever dared to live; 

And who knew well the sacred truth of love. 

Ah, call him not unknowing, for he knew 

The truth of truth — the gods can know no more. 

"A WEARY WASTE WITHOUT HER" 

"A WEARY waste without her?" Ah, but think! 

You who were blest with the most sweet, most near 



WHERE SPRING BEGAN 399 

Knowledge of that high nature; who could drink 
At her fresh spirit's fountain, year by year — 

What were the past without her? And her dear 
Image and memory — did they, too, sink 
Into the abyss ? — Herself was yours, and here 
Still lives remembrance; a bright, golden link 

'Twixt this, the visible world, and the unknown 
Toward which we journey — where she now doth live, 
Close to the Eternal One. Make thou no moan; 

What else may pass, this twofold gift endures; 

Give thanks, and mourn not, then. — But, O, forgive! 
How can I chide who mix my tears with yours? 

THE POET'S SLEEP 

In spite of it all I am going to sleep. Put out the lights. 

Thomas Bailey Aldrich. 

Ever when slept the poet his dreams were music, 
And in sweet song lived the dear dream once more. 
So when from sleep and dreams again he wakes, — 
Out from the world of symbols passing forth 
Into that spirit-world where all is real, — 
What memoried music, new and exquisite, 
Shall strike on ears celestial — where he walks 
Reverent among the immortal melodists! 

WHERE SPRING BEGAN 

The days were cold, and clouded. On a day 

Before the seasonable warmth and sun 

The poet died. We bore him to the tomb 

And, under wreaths and flowers, we laid him down. 

Then came a burst of sunshine. Bright it poured 

On the banked blossoms and the leafless trees. 

There, at the poet's grave, the spring began. 



400 THE FIRE DIVINE 

AVARICE 

They said, " God made him," ah, the clean, great God! 

Perhaps! Even as He made the loathed beast 

Whose use is to take offal for his feast; 

As He made viper and vermin or, at a nod, 
Made hell, to do some necessary part 

In His wide-stretched, inscrutable universe. 

Yes, haply God imagined him for a curse, 

A scourge, a vengeance; with slow, patient art 
Him did He fashion cunningly; saying: "This 

My sign and warning, to time's distant end, 

That all a loveless life is may be known. 
And desolate horror of pure avarice; 

The world is his, — a world without a friend, — 

Without one friend an honest man would own." 

PITY THE BLIND 



"Pity the blind!" Yes, pity those 
Whom day and night inclose 
In equal dark; to whom the sun's keen flame 
And pitchy night-time are the same. 

II 

But pity most the Wind 

Who cannot see 
That to be kind 

Is life's felicity. 

PROOF OF SERVICE 

Thou who wouldst serve thy country and thy kind, 
Winning the praise of honorable men 



BLAME 401 

And love of many hearts — know the true proof 
Of faithfulness lies not therein. That dwells 
In the lone consciousness of duty done, 
And in the scorn and contumely of souls 
Self-soiled with sin: the necessary hate 
Of perjured and contaminated spirits 
For that whose mere existence brings reproach, 
Shame, and despair for something lost forever. 
When thou hast won the hatred of the vile, 
Then know thou hast served well thy fellow-men. 

CONQUERED 

In thine anger it was said: 
"Would that mine enemy were dead." 

Or, if thou saidest naught. 

That was thy thought. 

Now thou cryest, night and day: 
" Mine enemy hath conquered in our fight, 

In that he fled away 

Into the darkness and the night. 

Ere I to justice wakened and the right. 

Now this through all the anguished hours I say, 

As with my soul my soul doth strive: 

Would God mine enemy were alive!" 

BLAME 

(a memory of eisleben, the place of Luther's 
birth and death) 

In a far, lonely land at last I came 
Unto a town made great by one great fame. 
Born here, here died the noblest of his time. 
Whose memory makes his century sublime. 



402 THE FIRE DIVINE 

But, O my God! I was not happy there, 
For down below, in dark and caverned air. 
Outstretched and cramped, the palUd miners lay. 
Their shortened lives, their absence from the day. 
Burdened my spirit with a sense of blame. 
Now you, and you — I see you flush with shame. 

THE WHISPERERS 

(new YORK, 1905) 

In the House of State at Albany, — in shadowy cor- 
ridors and corners, — the whisperers whispered together. 

In sumptuous palaces in the great city men talked 
intently, with mouth to ear. 

Year in and year out they whispered, and talked, and 
no one heard save those who listened close. 

Now in the Hall of the City the whisperers again are 
whispering, the talkers are talking. 

They who once conversed so quietly, secretly, with 
shrugs and winks and finger laid beside nose — what 
has happened to their throats? 

For speak they never so low, their voices are as the 
voices of trumpets; whisper they never so close, their 
words are like alarm bells rung in the night. 

Every whisper is a shout, and the noise of their speech 
goes forth like thunders. 

They cry as from the housetops — their voices resound 
up and down the streets; they echo from village to village 
and from city to city. 

Over prairies and mountains and across the salt sea 
their whispers go hissing and shouting. 

They say the thing they would not say, and quickly 
the shameful thing clamors back and forth over the round 
world ; 



BEFORE THE GRAND JURY 403 

And when they would fain cease their saying, they may 
not, for a clear-voiced Questioner is as the finger of fate 
and the crack of doom. 

What they would hide they reveal, what they would 
cover they make plain; 

What they feared to speak aloud to one another, un- 
willing they publish to all mankind; 

And the people Hsten with bowed heads, wondering 
and in grief; 

And wise men, and they who love their country, turn 
pale and ask: "What new shame will come upon us?" 

And again they ask, "Are these they in whose keep 
are the substance and hope of the widow and the father- 
less?" 

And the poor man, plodding home with his scant earn- 
ings from his hard week's work, hears the voices, with 
bitterness in his soul. 

And thieves, lurking in dark places and furtively seiz- 
ing that which is not their own ; and the petty and cow- 
ardly briber, and he who is bribed, nudge one another; 

And the anarch and the thrower of bombs clap hands 
together, and cry out: "Behold these our allies!" 

BEFORE THE GRAND JURY 

A WOMAN, who has been a man's desire. 

Now cast aside like ashes from a fire. 

With startled breath, confessing all her shame. 

Here, — looking in the faces of strange men, 

Who probe remorselessly their "where" and "when," — 

Falters her dreadful story, that the blame 

May strike on the betrayer. In that glare 

Plead piteous answers hardly might she dare . 

Murmur^ at midnight, on a mother's breast. 



404 THE FIRE DIVINE 

Was ever secret misery confest 
To such grim audience! 

O hapless fate 
For this sweet girl, and for her guiltier mate. 

Powers of the world, and O, ye Powers Unseen, 
Be stern, yet be ye kind! Let be the ends 
Of justice served; but hold a shield between 
Souls and the smiting sword. O, make amends 
In the oncoming years, or some far age. 
They are but caught in Nature's deathless rage; 
The fire that in their bodies burned doth hold 
The sun in heaven; part is it of the force 
That keeps the stars each on its mystic course, 
While the all-changing universe grows never old. 

"IN THE CITIES" 
I 

In the cities no longer the blaring of trumpets that sum- 
mon to battle. 

From splendid towers the banners flash not forth in the 
breeze. 

No longer the ringing of war-bells, and the clattering 
sound of horsemen, 

The clangor of sword on shield, nor the cries of the feudal 
fighters 

Hurrying into the streets to strike with bullet and steel; 

Clamoring, battering down; assailing high walls and 
towers ; 

Rushing maddened, furious, to the killing of fellow- 
men. 

II 

Yet still a clangor of bells and a loud, shrill whistling 
and shouting. 



IN THE CITIES 405 

But the sharp, quick sounds that startle proclaim not 
anger but mercy. 

For now, like winds and thunders, flash by the gHttering 
engines, 

And the wagons, with ladders and axes, laden with well- 
trained men 

Eager to quench the flame, to scale the dangerous battle- 
ments; 

Eager to risk their lives in the hissing blaze and the smoke 

That blinds, and that grips the throat like the throttling 
hand of murder. 

in 

On come the engines and wagons, and the Chief in his 

hooting chariot. 
And a boy, who hears them careering, rushes out to the 

crossing of ways. 
And, swinging his arms and shouting, clears a path for 

the shrieking engine. 
That rushes like winds and thunders down a vale of death 

and destruction — 
And every man, at his post, on the winds of the human 

tempest. 
Mad for the saving of lives of men and of women and 

children — 
To creep to the edge of death, to swing in dizzying chasms, 
To save the children of strangers, forgetting their own 

in their madness; 
And then if a comrade fall, how wild each man to the 

rescue, 
Plunging into the pit, poisoned, choked, unconscious; 
Revived, they struggle back 'gainst their oflScers' yelled 

commandings — 
Mad, mad, mad, for the saving of human life. 



4o6 THE FIRE DIVINE 

IV 

And now, in the days of peace, no squadron charging by, 
But hark! down the street a sharp reiterant stroke and 

clamor, 
A rhythmic beating of hoofs, a galloping louder, closer, 
And again a youth leaps quick to the crossing of crowded 

ways. 
And he swings his arms and shouts, and clears, through 

the human currents, 
A path for the ringing ambulance, hurrying, hurrying, 

hurrying 
To a place where a child has fallen, is wounded nigh 

unto death, 
That the child may be tenderly lifted and skillfully nursed 

and tended — 
Engine and hurrying ambulance screaming, ringing, 

impatient. 
Filling the frightened streets with echoes of old-time wars. 
Laden with men of might, skilled and fierce and deter- 
mined — 
Not as of old to maim, to harry and scatter destruction ; 
Not to take life, but to save it; not to kill, but to rescue 

the perishing. 

A TRAGEDY OF TO-DAY 

(new YORK, 1905) 



In a little theater, in the Jewry of the New World, I 
sat among the sad-eyed exiles; 

Narrow was the stage and meagerly appointed, and 
the players gave themselves up utterly to their art; 

And, before our eyes, were enacted scenes of a play 
that scarcely seemed a play. 



A TRAGEDY OF TO-DAY 407 

The place was a city in a wide, unhappy land; 

Even in that empire which drifts to-day like a great 
ship toward a black and unknown coast; 

While men, with blanched faces, cry out: "Unless 
the tempest abates quickly, behold the mightiest wreck 
on all the shores of time ! " 

And the time of the drama was our own time ; and the 
coming and the going; and the people themselves were 
of our own day and generation; 

The people, with strange beards, and look of the im- 
memorial Orient ; like those men and women who, alien 
and melancholy, plod the New- World streets; 

Like those who, in slow and pitiful procession, on a 
fixed day of mourning, with dirges and wailings, poured 
innumerous into the city's open places; 

And, as the play went on, at times the very speech of 
the actors, in hot debate, crackled and sputtered like the 
fuse of a Russian bomb. 

And there an old man, the preacher of a hunted race 
and a despised religion, all alone called to his people to 
follow him, and their God, the God of Israel. 

Passionately he proclaimed the faith of the fathers 
and the saving word and protecting arm of the Almighty; 

He, the voice and the prophet of the Lord High God, 
called aloud to them who strayed: — 

"Come ye back to your God, and to His Everlasting 
Word. 

"Ye young men who have forgotten Him, the Un- 
forgetting, and ye old men mumbhng your prayers; ye 
cowards! leaving the holy shrine unprotected"; 

And the young men answered and called the old man 
the name of them who are dead and have passed away; 

And the old men, unheeding, swayed to and fro, mum- 
bling their ancient psalms and ineffectual supplications. 

Then, while the noise of the beastly rabble swelled 



408 THE FIRE DIVINE 

louder and nearer — then did the preacher turn once 
more to the Lord of Hosts, Hfting up his voice in praise 
<f and prayer, and faith unquenchable ; 

Crying to God with a loud voice and saying: — "Lead 
me, Thou Jehovah! in the right way, 

" For now hath come the great day of the Lord ; now, 
Lord, save Thy people and bless Thy heritage, 

"Thou who wert, and art, and ever shalt be! Show 
now Thy Almightiness, send Thy miracle as lightning 
from on high." 

Nearer and nearer came the curses and shrieks and 
the wailing lamentations; and men and women fled, 
wounded, before the infamous and infuriate avengers; 

Then the crash of guns and the terror of carnage and 
rapine unspeakable; 

And, in the midst, the voice of an old man crying to 
heaven, and falling smitten and dead before the shrine 
of the God of Israel. 

And, listening, I heard not only the sounds of the mimic 
drama — but, louder and more dreadful, the panting of 
miserable women who welcomed death, the deliverer; 

And from Kishineff and Odessa I heard, once more 
crying to heaven, the outpoured blood of the Jew. 

II 

And still as I listened and dreamed, the crimson flood 
widened to a great and lustrous pool, 

And looking therein I saw reflected the faces of many 
known well to my heart and to the hearts of all the world, 

For there were the features of mighty warriors and 
makers of laws and leaders of men; of poets inspired and 
of painters and musicians; and of famed philosophers, 
and of men and women who loved, and labored for, their 
kind; 



THE OLD HOUSE 409 

And the faces of preachers and prophets; of those 
who fervently cursed the unrighteous, and who to a world 
in darkness brought light everlasting; 

And chief of all I saw in that crimson mirror the face 
of him whose spirit was bowed beneath the agonies of 
all mankind. 

THE OLD HOUSE 



Home of my forebears, home of my dreaming childhood, 
House that I love with a love instinctive, changeless, 
Ancestral, mystical, passionate, tender, sorrowful; 
Old house where I was born and my mother before me — 
Strangely the old house speaks to its child returning. 
Speaks with a tone affectionate, intimate, sweet, 
Made, mysterious, out of the voices of many — 
Out of the accents of them, the loving, the loyal, 
That still in memory soothe and murmur and call; 
Voices that greeted my life and guided the journey, 
Human voices, long hushed, and the subtler speech 
That steals from the dumb, dead walls, and whispers and 

thrills. 
From the shadowy chimney-places, and haunted nooks; 
These centuried walls, this roof, and the buoyant branches 
Of large-leaved, mottled buttonwoods, towering mightily, 
And pines that my father planted, now loftily dying — 
These are the vibrant notes of the one deep chord 
That sings in my heart, here by the ancient hearthstone. 



Five are the generations this place have humaned. 
Leaving their impress, I think, on the breathed air — 
For full is the house of relics of lives departed : 



4IO THE FIRE DIVINE 

Carvings strange that some wanderer here enharbored, 
Bringing the Orient's touch to the wondering child; 
And Arctic gatherings; hints of the torrid zone; 
And quaint embroideries worked by hands ancestral, 
Deft for the spinning of flax on these silent wheels; 
Books of a day when each was a treasure, a star — 
And chief of them all, to the trembling heart of a boy, 
The verse of him, the singer of song sonorous. 
Whose voice was the voice of trumpets and many waters, 
Whose soul went forth with angels and archangels, 
Nor stood dismayed before the Eternal presence. 

Pictures of faces whose features I see in my own — 
That I see re-imaged by laws unfathomed, fateful, 
In my own children's pleading, innocent faces; 
Volumes of lores outgrown, or a living art; 
Bibles and books of devotion, where names are enrolled 
In letters that fade like the image of souls long dead. 
Not without tears may I ponder the yellowing leaves 
Where record was made of secretest dreams and 

prayers — 
Records of love accomplished, or unfulfilled. 
Were the aged faces I knew, the timorous maidens 
Who, wistful, their innocent passions here hinted, or hid? 
This wife new-married, so young, so sweet, so appealing, 
Was this the angelical mother, she of great sorrows. 
Loving and dreaming in age, as in palpitant girlhood? 
This lock, among many a tress so lovingly treasured — 
Ah, this is my own, by hands that I knew so well, 
Cut from a golden head that long has been silvered. 

ni 

The old house speaks, and low, in the glimmering twilight, 
It murmurs of days that are gone, and spirits lamented; 
A girhsh face with a smile all radiant, loving — 



THE OLD HOUSE 4II 

Sweet cousin mine! where, in the land of shadows, 
Doth that smile illume, that voice bring joy as of old? 
This quaint and closeted chamber, ah, here was unfolded 
The love of a child for a child, through years and 

through sorrows 
Remembered and cherished by each, — the love of the old 
For the old, now, — the love of the old for lost youth 
And comrades long gone, and loved and remembered 

together. 
And she with the heart of a queen, and the soul of a 

martyr; 
In young days serene, and blithe and undaunted in age, 
Who loved the old house, even as I, — her birthplace, 

her refuge, — 
She in a vision comes near; and quick I remember 
One night of all nights, when a messenger stood in the 

doorway — 
Silent he stood, and we knew the message unspoken ! 
O night of nights, when a wife turned sudden a widow, 
And a child, 'neath the solacing stars, passed swift into 

manhood. 

IV 

But of childhood the old house whispers and murmurs 
to-night, 
Of the twilight hour in the arms of her the beloved 
And loving sister of her who gave me my being — 
Who like a second mother encompassed my childhood 
With song and with story, with gleams of fairy and hero, 
Chanting in twilight gray the ancient ballads, 
Or crooning, as if to herself, the love-songs of girlhood; 
Or, again, she fashioned the tales of her own young days: 
Of the country balls, in the time when winter was winter. 
And the snows were piled — high as the head of a man, 
And the ringing sleighs sped over the fields and the fences 



412 THE FIRE DIVINE 

To the revels and routs in the taverns of long ago; 
When the dancing would last till dawn, and the dancers 

flew 
From village to village, and tavern to tavern, all night; 
Turning the snow-lit dark to rollicking day. 
O days and nights of a far and happy world ! 



Of childhood the old house whispers, of wintry sports 
With sled and skate on the ponds long filled and forgotten ; 
Wild joys of meadow, and woods, and waters; of branches 
Laden with black-heart cherries, where boys and birds 
Alternate shared the wealth of the aery feast. 
Of boyhood the old house whispers, of moonlit voyages 
On the wooded stream, that wound in silent reaches, 
Far through the mystic land of awakening life. 

VI 

And now, in the twilight hour, dear, living voices. 
The voices of children I hear, they come to my call; 
And I tell of the days that are gone, and they hark with 

delight — 
As I, in my youth, heard the tales of the ancient days; 
Then good-night, and to bed! But the teller of ancient 

tales 
Stays by the dying fire and listens, again, 
To the thronging voices that murmur to him alone. 

"THERE'S NO PLACE LIKE THE OLD 
PLACE!" 



Back to the old place I've come home again, 
Back at last from the big town. 



NO PLACE LIKE THE OLD PLACE 413 

After so many hard and struggling years; 

Back to the old home, the old home in the mountains, 

In the valley of childhood; 

And I say to myself, again and again I say: 

There's no place like the old place! 

ir 

Here once more I wander, here, in the valley of brooks, 
I wander a stranger — where every spring and tree and 

rock is familiar. 
The little brooks tinkle down, with the old music, through 

the pine-darkened gorges; 
The brooks that sometimes run dry, or hide under the 

smooth stones; 
In the time of fullness leaping from ledge to ledge down 

to the big brook that never dries; 
Where the trout dartle and the pools are shadowy and 

cool 
And good to the hot body of a boy. 
Lovely, with an intimate loveliness, is the valley, 
And again and again I chant to myself: 
O, there's no place like the old place! 

in 

There 's no place like the old place ! 

Strangely nearer seem the walls of the valley, 

Tho' far and spacious as ever the mysterious sunset. 

Never before have I felt so intensely the beauty of it all — 

How well-shaped the double valley; 

The upper valley like a great, green bowl, 

And the lower valley opening out toward the sunset like a 

trumpet ; 
The mountains embowered with evergreens, and maples, 

and chestnuts — 



414 THE FIRE DIVINE 

Or lying naked in the sun, 
Scraped bare by the ancient glacier, 
Scoured by rains and scarred by lightnings. 
And with a look as if the salt sea had beaten and bitten 
there for a thousand years. 

IV 

Stately and gracious with elms and willows are the 

smooth and grassy meadows 
Leveled for human use by the lakes of untold ages, 
Then covered with forests, that the pioneers uprooted — 
Rich now and full of peace ; bringing back the well-loved 

images of the Bible; 
Meadows where first I heard the swift song of the bobo- 
link, 
Throbbing and ringing madly, back and forth in the 

meadow air, 
And whence, in full summer, after a long, hot day 
The boy that was I came back to the home barn 
Royally charioted on the high-piled, sweet-scented hay. 
Ah, there 's no place like the old place ! 



There, under the hill, is the homestead; 

How large the maples have grown that the old folks 

planted ! 
Sweet was the sap in the spring and the shade in the 

summer. 
I never knew such water as from the spring at our house, 
Running cold as ice in the kitchen and out in the barn. 
And the little window up there was mine ! 
I tell you I slept well, and rose early in those days, 
Tho' sometimes at night after a long rain, or when the 

ice was melting in Hayes's pond, 



NO PLACE LIKE THE OLD PLACE 415 

I could scarce sleep for the brook roaring like Niagara, 
As it leapt the mill-dams and spread out over the 

meadows, 
Scurrying great logs along, and every footbridge in the 

valley. 
But most times it was quiet enough at the old home — 
The dear old place, the old place that's the best place! 

VI 

O, there's no place like the old place, and no time like 

the old time! 
The chores were rough, but the keener the zest for the 

play ! 
For chestnuting in the frosty autumn. 
For the tug of the bass at Goose pond and the lake at 

Monterey, 
And the day of fun at the county fair; 
For the skim on the frozen meadow on winter nights, 
Or the watch at the pickerel flags in the ice-holes on the 

white spread of the mountain lakes, 
Or the flying plunge of the bob-sled down Papermill 

hill; 
The chase for the woodchuck, and the far-circling fox, 

and the all-night tramp for the treed 'coon ; 
For a hay-ride with a bevy of girls and a moonlight drive 

with one; 
For wanderings through the woods and over the hills. 
When the billowing mountain-laurel from afar off 
Looked like flocks of sheep on the high terraces of the 

old Sweet farm; 
When the hiding arbutus or gossamer clematis faintly 

scented the clean air; 
When came the child's first thrill at the boom of the 

startled partridge. 



4l6 THE FIRE DIVINE 

And when first the adventurer heard a whole, great 

blossoming linden 
Humming, with honey-gathering bees, Hke the pluckt 

string of a violin. 

VII 

O, there's no place like the old place! 

Mightier mountains there are, sky-piercing and snow- 
covered all the year round, 

But the lion-like curve of Cobble, clear-cut against the 
southern heavens. 

On still, cold nights heaves close to the thick stars; 

And the white ways of the Galaxy I have seen start from 
the lion's head 

And sweep over to the long mountain, as if all the light 
and glory were for the valley only. 

Day and night, in sunlight and starlight, and in the light 
of the moon, 

Beautiful, beautiful is the valley of brooks. 

Travelers have said that in the whole earth there is none 
more beautiful. 

Why have I stayed away so long ? 

I think I will come again and again before I die — 

And perhaps after I have died; for in the white graveyard 
on the hill 

Rest, in the long sleep, some whom one day I should like 
to join. 

I wonder shall I seem to them as strange as now to me 

The image of my own self as I was in the days of child- 
hood: 

An image that haunts me hourly while here I wander 
and dream. 

And makes me strange to myself in a curious double 
existence. 



GLEN GILDER 417 

The old friends seem to know me — but I am never de- 
ceived ; 
The one that I am is not the one that I was — yet truly 
No one but I ever knew the youth who departed, 
And the youth who departed still lives in the elder re- 
turning, 
In whose bosom revive the days that forever are gone — 
The old love and the old sweet longings; 
The old love for the old place, that deepens as age comes 

closer. 
And the heart keeps sighing and singing: 
There's no place like the old place! 

GLEN GILDER 

How curves the little river through Glen Gilder, O Glen 

Gilder; 
Now it runs and now it rushes, now it sings and now it 

hushes 
O'er the rocks and by the brushes in Glen Gilder. 

All music is the river in Glen Gilder, O Glen Gilder; 
It sounds like wild birds singing, and it chimes like bells 

a-ringing — 
Birds, too, their songs are flinging in Glen Gilder. 

O mighty are the willows of Glen Gilder, of Glen Gilder; 
Cool the air and cool the waters 'neath the giant spread- 
ing shadows, 
And beyond wide sweep the meadows from Glen Gilder. 

O, there's life and fun and frolic in Glen Gilder, in Glen 
Gilder; 

And near the men are haying, and here the cows are stray- 
ing, 

And the lambs and colts are playing in Glen Gilder. 



4l8 THE FIRE DIVINE 

Spring and autumn bring a change to fair Glen Gilder, 

O Glen Gilder; 
Above the banks and under come the freshet's rage and 

thunder, 
And men look with awe and wonder on Glen Gilder. 

O, white the world of winter in Glen Gilder, in Glen 

Gilder; 
'Neath ice the waves are creeping, or down in dark 

pools sleeping, 
Or with sound of sleigh-bells leaping in Glen Gilder. 

O, beautiful the morning in Glen Gilder, in Glen Gilder; 
But, O, most dear and tender when blooms the sunset 

splendor, 
At dying day's surrender in Glen Gilder. 

And now the lingering sunlight leaves Glen Gilder, O 
Glen Gilder; 

While moony shades are stalking, is it the wavelets talk- 
ing, 

Or whispering lovers walking in Glen Gilder? 

SONG 

Maria mia! all in white 

Your fairy form against the night, 

Maria ! 

Maria mia! in the night 
Gleams like a ghost your form so slight, 

Maria ! 

Maria mia! like a sprite 
Burn those eyes in dusky light, 

Maria ! 



I DREAMED 419 

Maria mia! sweet and wise 
Those darkling, deep, Italian eyes, 

Maria ! 

Maria mia! starry skies 
Hold no such brightness as those eyes, 

Maria ! 

Maria mia! turn, O turn 
Those eyes away that beam and burn, 

Maria ! 

Maria mia! when those eyes 
Burn close, O close, I am not wise, 

Maria ! 
I am not wise, 

Maria ! 



OBSCURATION 

This night, when I blew out my candle flame. 

The window's dark square suddenly turned white ! — 

I had not known the half-moon shone so bright, 

And that a cool, sweet, silent moonbeam came 

Through summer air, faint-touched with autumn frost, 

And poured upon my floor a pool of light ! 

Pure, heavenly visitant — and almost thou wert lost. 



"I DREAMED" 

I DREAMED a tender and mysterious dream 
Of one who, threading paths of earthly fate, 
In a rich twilight walked, with heart aglow. 
And all his soul vibrant with unheard tones, 
"Drawn, drawn by the soft splendor of a face." 



420 THE FIRE DIVINE 

IMPROMPTUS 

"from love to love" 

(for a wedding) 

From love to love she passes on this day; 
Yet all the love she leaves with her doth stay; 
Deep, deep, the new love, in her heart of hearts, 
And the old love follows her when she departs: 
So is she richer than she was before. 
For of true love she hath a mightier store. 

"l ASKED YOU TO READ MY POEM " 

I ASKED you to read my poem, so shameless was I, 
I not used such boon and service to ask ; 

This my excuse — when you hear, you will not deny 
The prayer of the poet, who saw the soul through the 
mask. 

The singer sails in a sea beyond sight or ken. 

And he flings his plummet of song by night and by 
day; 
With his poems he sounds the depths of the souls of 
men — 
In your soul my song I flung to fathom the way. 

NAZIMOVA 

From every motion, every lovely line. 

Breathe art and passion; music from those lips; 

The tragic Orient from those lustrous eyes. 

A warrior of troy 

Let other gray-beards mourn the flight of years, 
Finding no gains of eld to match its fears; 



IMPROMPTUS 421 

I have no feud with fate, nor age, nor time, 
Who knew great Helen in her golden prime. 

THE OBELISK (1881) 

Beneath a stone wrenched from Egyptian sands 

Six rivers run through six imperial lands; 

Nile, Bosphorus, Tiber, Seine, and Thames, till now 

The Hudson wears the jewel on hep brow. 

Land that we love! O be thou, by this sign, 

Tho' last, the noblest of the mighty line. 

CROWNED ABSURDITIES 

I ASKED me: what in all the world so odd 
And laughable to men, and unto God — 
The hight of comedy in earthly things? 
That lot of little men pretending to be kings! 

TO "LITTLE LADY MARGARET" — WITH A BOOK OF 
POEMS 

They who love the poets 

Will never lack a friend — 
Up the road, and down the road, 

And to the very end. 

sacrilege 

Wed, thou, with sweet and silent Death, 
Rather than join the prurient throng 

Would soil, with foul, empoisoned breath, 
The sanctity of song. 

TO THE HERO OF A SCIENTIFIC ROMANCE 

If you wish, go be a pig. 

In and out of season; 
But do not bore us with a big 

Philosophic reason. 



422 THE FIRE DIVINE 

THE WATCHMAN ON THE TOWER 

(JANUARY, 1907) 

Wa tchma n I What seest thou in the New Dawn ? 

Far off, across the seas, I behold men pursuing men 
and helpless women with dreadful massacre; borne on 
the eastern wind I hear the horrible cries of the murdered 
and bereft. 
And what seest thou nearer, O Watchman oj the Tower ? 

Nearer I see dark and cowering forms of crime and 
frightened innocence, alike given pitilessly to the green 
tree and the red flame. 
And what else nearer dost thou see, O Seer oj Evil Things ? 

I see smoldering fires and drift of black smoke where 
all manner of shames have been burned in the market- 
places, befouling the pure air of heaven. 
And now, again, thou seest — ? 

I see scared creatures, in shape of men, fleeing from 
the light, and hiding in clefts of rocks, and in far places 
of the earth. 

Look well, O Watchman, look near and wide, and tell us, 
who wait, what other things thou dost behold! 

I see the shining faces of little children from whose 
backs heavy burdens have been lifted; I see rich men 
eagerly scattering their wealth among those who need — 
lifting up the stricken and restoring the power of self- 
help to the sturdy, and striving to make less hard the lot 
of them who work; I see those who labor winning an 
ampler share in the profits of their toil — in wage, and 
comfort, and safety, and time for rest ; I behold Science 
conquering the secrets and guiding the forces of nature, 
and creating new and wondrous devices for human hap- 



THE WATCHMAN ON THE TOWER 423 

piness — working miracles in culture of the soil, and in 
the cure of sickness; I behold Art going up and down 
the land, making homes and cities more beautiful; I 
behold Service honored above possessions ; I see men as 
brothers, — in times of calm and in days of monstrous 
calamity, — stretching hands to one another over lands 
and seas, and across the ancient barriers of race, and 
religion, and condition; I see the hearts of men go out, 
in new love and care and understanding, to the beasts of 
the field and to the birds of the air; I hear the voices of 
poets and prophets troubling the hearts and lifting up 
the souls of all mankind ; and in all these I see the mind 
of the Son of Man, and the power of the Will Eternal. 

O Seer of Good and Evil, what else, what else ? 

Near by I behold the Angel of a People, and in his 
hand he bears a standard whereon is writ, in letters of 
light, the one word Truth ; higher he bears the standard 
than ever before, and the people, in gathering numbers, 
follow the Word. 

And what of the evil things that late thou sawest ? 

Still I see them, and many more, but fainter are they 
growing, as by some element of light consumed. Yet 
doth one strange and greatly evil thing loom with menace 
against the dawn — the shadow of false and self-seeking 
men who seize the banner of righteousness and with 
unclean hands uphft it, to the deceiving of many; and 
yet even here, I know, it is the love of Right and not of 
Wrong which doth mislead; and as the light increases, 
surely the pure in heart shall know their own and shun 
the deceiver of souls. 

And what of the good that late thou sawest ? 

O still I see the good, and with clearer eyes; and, lo, it 



424 THE FIRE DIVINE 

doth appear that, in the h'ght of the New Dawn, greater 
and always greater grows the good, and nearer and al- 
ways nearer. For now, with the rising sun, a company of 
angels in new flight lift their wings and come upon the 
day, and one is the bright Angel of Freedom, and one the 
strong Angel of Justice, and one is the undaunted Angel 
of Peace, and one the Angel of Hope Everlasting. With 
a great and wonderful burst of light they come, and with 
loud music of instruments and many voices. 

O Watcher oj the Dawn! thou seest what is^ but canst thou 
see what yet shall he? 

O ye who doubt ! In the visible present lives the invisi- 
ble future, and the hour that is brings the hour that shall 
be. If the Light grows, it shall not cease to grow ; and the 
good that is brings the good that is to come. As with 
separate souls, so with peoples — the New Year, tho' it 
holds inheritance of shame and loss, holds, also, inher- 
itance of striving, and accomplishment, and divine aspi- 
ration. Lo, the Light is climbing, not only of a New Year, 
but of a New Era for the awakening world. 

UNDER THE STARS 

A REQUIEM FOR AUGUSTUS SAINT-GAUDENS 
I 

KINDRED stars, wherethrough his soul in flight 
Past to the immortals! 'neath your ageless light 

1 stand perplext, remembering that keen spirit 
Quenched in mid-strength; the world, that shall inherit 
His legacy of genius, all deprived 

Of wealth untold, the still ungathered fruit 
Of that great art ! What honey all unhived; 
What unborn grandeurs; noble music mute! 



UNDER THE STARS 425 

II 

O silent stars! even as I harken here, 
Heart-heavy, a murmurous and mysterious voice, 
Blent with sweet wiry tones, on the inward ear 
Strikes, and I hear the summons : " O rejoice. 
Rejoice and mourn not!" Then that wondrous star 
Now drawn near earth, — named for the god of war, — 
The fiery planet cries across the night : 
"Victory, Victory, he hath won the fight!'* 

in 

O star of fire ! he was thy very child ! 

Mixt with his blood thy fierce, ensanguined ray ! 

'Gainst the proud forces of the sordid day 

He battled valiantly, all unbeguiled 

By what might tempt or foil a lesser soul. 

Not wealth, nor ease, nor praise unworthily won 

Could touch his spirit ; — " There the swift course to run ! '* 

"There, there, O see! the bright, immortal goal!" 

IV 

Thou star of blood and battle ! rich and sweet 
Thy liquid gleam, where, in the twilight sky, 
Thou shinest greatly ! So did his art repeat 
Thy strength, thy loveliness; thy ministry, — 
In a dark, harmful world, — of Beauty's guerdon; — 
Beauty that broods, enlightens, and makes endure 
The heart of man beneath its heavy burden. 
Lifting above the strife a deathless lure. 



O starry skies! O palpitant winds whose throbbings 
From out the vast of heaven pulse and flow ! 
In light and sound eterne our human sobbings 



426 THE FIRE DIVINE 

Are lost. — How dear to him who lieth low 
The garment wonderful wild nature throws 
About its inner life: green glades withdrawn; 
Anger of ocean; radiance of the rose; 
The pomp superb of sunset and of dawn. 

VI 

White, trembling fires of the unknown universe ! 
Ye speak of some august, inscrutable Power 
Creative, from whose hand, to bless or curse, 
Ye were sent forth — thrillingly, in an hour 
Of force stupendous, swift, immeasurable; 
To-night those unconsuming fires tell 
Of one who, in the splendor of his passion, 
Alas! tho' mortal, could the immortal fashion. 

VII 

O stars that sing as in creation's prime ! 

He whom, with love and tears, we celebrate, 

He, like the Power that made ye, could create — 

Bringing to birth new beauty for all time: 

Once, lo ! these shapes were not, now do they live, 

And shall forever in the hearts of men ; 

And from their life new life shall spring again, 

To souls unborn new light and joy to give. 

VIII 

Ye stars, all music to the spirit's ear! 

Before the imperial music-masters knelt 

This master of an art sublime, austere; 

The very soul of music in him dwelt, 

So in his lines the haunting strains of lyres, 

From gracious forms deep tones symphonic spring; 

Once more we hear the sound of heavenly wires, 

Again the stars of morn together sing. 



UNDER THE STARS 427 

IX 

Red star of war! thy sons did he enshrine 

In glorious art — fighters on sea and land; 

In bronze they give again the brave command; 

In bronze they march resistless, in divine 

Ecstasy of devotion, not in wrath; 

The fire and fury of battle he made real, 

But like God's prophets moved they on their path 

Led and uplifted by the great Ideal. 



O fateful stars! that lit the climbing way 

Of that dear, martyred son of fate and fame, — 

The supreme soul of an immortal day, — 

Linked with his name is our great sculptor's name; 

For now in art eternal breathes again 

The gaunt, sweet presence of our chief of men — 

That soul of tenderness; that spirit stern. 

Whose fires divine forever flame and burn. 

XI 

Stars of white midnight! tho' unseen by day, 
Imagined ! He the unseen could subtly see 
And image forth in most divine array: 
Blest Charity, and Love, and Loyalty, 
And Victory, and Grief; and, with a touch 
Made tender by heroic years of pain, — 
Telling in art what words might not contain, — 
The calm, sweet face of Him who suffered much. 

xn 

Mysterious sky ! where orbs constellate reign ! 
Toward which the heart of man through endless ages 



428 THE FERE DIVINE 

Hath flung eternal questionings in vain — 

Yet hath he read a little in thy pages; 

And him we miss, learned well from thee to mold, — 

As by the hand of Fate, in time's dark womb, — 

That mystic form, a thousand centuries old; 

That mournless mourner near a tragic tomb. 

xm 

Ye stars eternal ! in your motions wide 

I feel the march of time; audibly pours 

To faithful ears the immemorial tide 

Of starry seas that beat on infinite shores; 

And, in that music magical, cold death, — 

And grief its shadow, — melt and are undone ; 

And that which brings the miracle of breath, 

And that which takes, — ay, that which takes, — are one. 

XIV 

O star of war! beyond thy troublous beams 

His freed soul wings to a great calm at last; 

The deep night, with its tremulous, starry streams 

Of light celestial, pours repose so vast 

Naught can escape that flood; and now the faces, 

Angelical, he molded with pure art. 

In majesty look forth from heavenly spaces. 

Enter thy peace, O high, tempestuous heart ! 



IN HELENA'S GARDEN 



^v™ 



IN HELENA'S GARDEN 

PART I 
IN HELENA'S GARDEN 

THE SUNSET WINDOW 

Through the garden sunset-window 

Shines the sky of rose; 
Deep the meUing red, and deeper, 

Lovelier it grows. 

Musically falls the fountain; 

Twilight voices chime; 
Visibly upon the cloud-lands 

Tread the feet of Time. 

Evening winds from down the valley 

Stir the waters cool; 
Break the dark, empurpled shadows 

In the marble pool. 

Rich against the high-walled grayness 

The crimson lily glows. 
And near, O near, one well-loved presence 

Dream-like comes and goes. 



The gray walls of the garden 
Hold many and many a bloom; 

A flame of red against the gray 
Is lightning in the gloom. 



432 IN HELENA'S GARDEN 

The gray walls of the garden 

Hold grassy walks between 
Bright beds of yellow blossoms, 

Golden against the green. 

And in the roof of the arbor 

Leaves woven through and through, — 

Great grape leaves, making shadows, — 
Shine green against the blue. 

And, O, in the August weather 
What wonders new are seen! 

Long beds of azure blossoms 
Cool blue against the green. 

The gray walls of the garden 

Hold paths of pure delight, 
And, in the emerald, blooms of pearl 

Are white against the night. 

THE MARBLE POOL 

The marble pool, like the great sea, hath moods — 
Fierce angers, slumbers, deep beatitudes. 

In sudden gusts the pool, in lengthened waves, — 
As in a mimic tempest, — tosses and raves. 

In the still, drowsy, dreaming midday hours 

It sleeps and dreams among the dreaming flowers. 

'Neath troubled skies the surface of its sleep 
Is fretted ; how the big drops rush and leap ! 

Now 't is a mirror where the sky oi night 
Sees its mysterious face of starry light; 



IN HELENA'S GARDEN 433 

Or where the tragic sunset is reborn, 
Or the sweet, virginal mystery of morn. 

One little pool holds ocean, brink to brink; 
One little heart can hold the world, I think. 

THE TABLE ROUND 

What think you of the Table Round 

Which the garden's rustic arbor 

In pride doth harbor? 

And what its weight, how many a pound? 

Or shall you reckon that in tons? 

For this is of earth's mighty ones : 

A mill-stone 't is, that turns no more, 

But, on a pier sunk deep in ground, 

Like a ship that's come to shore. 

Content among its flowery neighbors 

It rests forever from its labors. 

II 
Now no more 'mid grind and hammer 
Are the toiling moments past. 
But amid a milder clamor 
Stays it fast. 

For the Garden Lady here, 
When the summer sky is clear, 
With her bevy of bright daughters 
(Each worth a sonnet) 
To the tune of plashing waters 
Serves the tea upon it. 

Ill 
And when Maria, and when Molly, 
Frances, Alice, Grace, Cecilia, 
Clara, Bess, and Pretty Polly, 



434 IN HELENA'S GARDEN 

Lolah and the dark Amelia, 
Come with various other ladies, 
Certain boys, and grown-ups graver — 
Then, be sure, not one afraid is 
To let his wit give forth its flavor. 
With the fragrant odor blent 
Of the Souchong, and the scent 
Of the roses and sweet-peas 
And other blossoms sweet as these. 
Then, indeed, doth joy abound 
About the granite table round, 
And the stream of laughter flowing 
Almost sets the old stone going. 

THE SUN-DIAL 

On the sun-dial in the garden 
The great sun keeps the time; 

A faint, small moving shadow, 
And we know the worlds are in rhyme: 

And if once that shadow should falter 
By the space of a child's eye-lash — 

The seas would devour the mountains, 
And the stars together crash. 



Something missing from the garden? 

But all 's bright there ; 
Color in the daytime, 

Perfume in the night there. 

Something wanting in the garden? 
Yet the blossoms 



IN Helena's garden 435 

Bring the hum-birds to the sweetness 
In their bosoms. 

And by day the sunhght golden 

On the granite 
Glistens, and by night the silver starlight 

From some near planet. 

Something missing from the garden? 

But the mountain 
Ceaseless pours a secret streamlet 

Filmy from the fountain; 

And that streamlet winds blow, wave-like, 

Down the flowers, 
And, in the mist, faint, flickering rainbows 

Flash through mimic showers. 

Something wanting in the garden 

When all 's bright there ? 
Color in the daytime. 

Perfume in the night there? 

Then what missing from the garden 

Spoils its pleasance ? — 
Just a breath of something human; 

Just one presence. 

THREE FLOWERS OF THE GARDEN 

Three blossoms in a happy garden grow — 
Have care, for this one, lo, is white as any snow: 
Its name is Peace. 

Three flowers — and one, in hue, a delicate gold; 

A harsh breath, then its golden leaves shall droop and fold 

Its name is Joy. 



436 IN HELENA'S GARDEN 

Three flowers — and one is crimson, rich and strong ; 
This will, if well entreated, all others outlive long: 
Its name is Love. 

EARLY AUTUMN 

The garden still is green 

And green the trees around — 
But the winds are roaring overhead 

And branches strew the ground. 

And to-day on the garden pool 

Floated an autumn leaf: 
How rush the seasons, rush the years, 

And, O, how life is brief! 

THE LAST FLOWER OF THE GARDEN 

One by one the flowers of the garden 
To autumn yielded as waned the sun; 

So prisoners, called by the cruel Terror, 
To death went, one by one. 

Roses, and many a delicate blossom, 

Down fell their heads, in the breezes keen, 

One by one ; and the frost of autumn 
Was the blade of their guillotine. 

And at last an hour when the emerald pathways 
Grew from green to a wintry white; 

And a new, strange beauty came into the garden 
In the full moon's flooding light. 

For a radiance struck on the columned fountain 
As it shot to the stars in a trembling stream, 

And a rainbow, springing above the garden, 
Was the dream of a dream in a dream. 



THE VOICE OF THE HIGHT 437 

And we who loved well that place of flowers 
Looked with awe on the wondrous birth, 

And knew that the last flower of the garden 
Was something not of earth. 



PART II 

THE LION OF TYRINGHAM 

Midway the valley, fronting the flusht morn, 
The huge beast stretches prone, as by the Nile 
The enormous Sphinx; so nature mimics nature. 
And man's own art — tho' never such vast shape 
By man was fashioned. Thus through ages long 
Hath he the tempest and the rain endured, 
And the all-rending frost, and the great sun, 
And the remorseless winters of the world. 

What shall that immemorial rest disturb? 

His monstrous head down prest betwixt huge paws. 

How well he sleeps! Not deeper slumber holds 

The dead in the white city far below. 

And shall he waken ? — Shall the dead awake ? 

THE VOICE OF THE HIGHT 



Of a dream I would sing and a river I saw in a dream — 
Of souls that the river divided, so wide was the stream. 
So wide and so deep that neither the other beheld. 
And they gazed on the ocean near, by terror com- 
pelled — 
On the infinite ocean whither their barks had been hurled 
In a tempest that drove from the ultimate, unseen world. 



438 IN HELENA'S GARDEN 

By that ocean they stood in awe, and remembrance, and 

wonder ; 
Troubled their hearts with the ceaseless surge and the 

thunder — 
Till in fear they turned, and they gazed on the inland 

hight, 
And the mountains that called by day and beckoned by 

night, 
And, each to the other unknown, by that call was shaken : 
O, lost is the soul that the voice of the hight shall not 

waken, 
Nor heavenward climb by the paths high hearts have 

taken. 

II 

Inland the new souls urged, by river and marsh, 
Treading with stedfast feet the roadways harsh. 
Inland and up through fields of flower or thorn, 
Through forests rude, and through desert ways forlorn — 
Upward and on by meadows blossoming bright 
Or where, under pestilent breath, the earth was blight ; 
Onward and up — and still by the river's brink 
Where, nigh unto death, they lived by the living drink. 

in 

And now, behold, they nearer and nearer drew 
Till each pilgrim soul the other beheld and knew. 
And climbing thus ever higher, they came more nigh, 
Above the enfolding mists, 'neath the bending sky — 
Till at last at the river's source, near the mountain's 

crest. 
At the selfsame spring they drank, and the waters of rest ; 
For they followed the paths high hearts have climbed to 

the sun, 
And the souls that the river divided became as one. 



A SONG OF FRIENDSHIP 439 

A SONG OF FRIENDSHIP 

We have come nearer, friend! 
The thought of each, to each 
Shines clearer, dearer, friend! 

All doubts have fled away; 
Strange deeds and baffling speech 
Now are clear as day. 

Naught between us, naught 
To hurt or separate; 
No battles to be fought. 

Friends now, in more than name; 
Forever friends, our fate — 
The* never again the same. 

We have come nearer, friend! 
Would it were not so late, 
But all the dearer, friend! 

What sorcery, new and strange, 
What word, what mystic token, 
Has worked the wondrous change? 

No word of secret powers, 
Nothing sung or spoken, 
Only the near, dear hours 

Under the starry sky; 
Trust and peace unbroken; 
Silence, and a sigh. 



440 IN HELENA'S GARDEN 



A ROSE OF DREAM 



I DREAMED a Fosc ; it bloomcd 

Beyond compare; 
Of all wild blossoms by the wayside 

Most rich, most sweet, most rare. 

So lovely was the rose 

I could but love it, 
As, drinking deep its fragrant soul, 

I bent above it. 

O tenderly its leaves 

Outbreathed their beauty; 
Humbly to worship at that shrine 

Was my dear duty. 

Once, when in the twilight hour, 

Its spirit drew me — 
O wonderful! I was aware 

That wild rose knew me. 

Knew me, my inmost heart — 

And, O above 
All joy imagined! lo! my rose 

Gave love for love. 

SONG 

O, WHITHER has she fled from out the dawning and the 

day? 
Empty is the dark of her, and twilight silver gray, 
For the world that she makes happy now is far and far 

away. 



WHEN GIRLS COME TO THE OLD HOUSE 44 1 

Strange, because a girl is gone the stars are not so 

bright, 
The sunset sky not fair as once, nor morning after 

night, 
While from the day has past away a dear and lovely 

light. 

Come back, come back, my darling girl, and set the stars 
aglow ; 

And make the daylight dear again, and make the blos- 
soms blow; 

Come back, come back, my golden girl, never again to go. 

"WHEN THE GIRLS COME TO THE OLD 
HOUSE » 



When the girls come 

To the old house, to the old, old home; 

When the girls race through it, 

How will they endue it 

With light and warmth and fun, 

Beyond the touch of the sun. 

II 

When the girls run through it, 
How the old house will awaken ! 
Never fear! It will not rue it 
When it feels its old bones shaken. 
From ancient sill to centuried rafter, 
With sweet girl laughter. 

in 

When the girls race through it. 

How each old ghost in its own old nook, 



442 IN HELENA^S GARDEN 

That it never forsook, 
How it will run 
When the girls pursue it 
With frolic and fun! 

IV 

Old house ! old home ! Come, light 

The fires again on the dear hearths of old. 

All must be bright; 

Not a room shall be cold; 

And on the great hearth, — where, in the old days, 

Beside the fierce blaze 

There was room, and to spare, for each grown-up and 

child, — 
High let the fire be piled! 

V 

Old house! Old home! You need no wine 

To cheer you now, for the joyous ripple 

Of girlish laughter is quite enough tipple! 

O, what liquor 

Like the innocent shine. 

The sparkle and flicker. 

In the eyes of youth ! 

And, of a truth, 

'T is youth, old house! 't is youth that fills you; 

Youth that calls to you ; youth that thrills you. 

VI 

Old house ! Old home ! O, do not dare 

To be sad, tho' aware 

Of the golden, and the raven, and the pretty, pretty curls, 

Of the little dead girls — 

Treasures put away in the old chest in the garret. 

Be glad, old house ! the new girls have come to share it : 

The great, deep hearth, with room and to spare; 



THE SONG OF A SONG 443 

The dark garret, and the wide hall, and the quaint, old 

stair — 
And to bring back to earth 
The old, sweet mirth. 

THE SONG OF A SONG 



"When in the morning you wake," 

Said the Song; 

" You shall remember me 

All the day long, 

As the bird remembers the tree, 

As the swan remembers the lake. 

And when the stars go, one by one. 

Like bright souls banished, 

Your heart shall echo the Song of the sad Stars vanished. 

II 

"When comes the day, with rush and run. 
Over the roofs the shadow from the rising sun that falls, — 
Over the roofs and down the walls. 
Along the roofs and over the brink, — 
This shall make you think 
Of the Song that sang the Shadow, and sang the Sun. 

in 

"And the narrow street. 
This have I sung so sweet 
That you cannot, even if you would. 
Lose the Song; and your feet 
Its music shall repeat, 
As a bird sings in a wood — 
Cheerily, cheerily sings. 
Remembering lovely things. 



444 IN HELENA'S GARDEN 

IV 

"And the vine on the house where you Hve," 

Said the Song, 

'The vine that I sang in blossom, or wintry bare — 

You shall sing to yourself the air 

Of the Song of the Vine ; it shall follow you every- 
where; 

Of the vine like a silent, purple cataract pouring down, 

Here in the midst of the noise and the dust of the 
town. 

Are you gay ? Do you grieve ? — 

The Song will find you ; 

Whether you stay or go the Vine will remind you 

Of the Song of the Vine, the Song of the House of the 
Vine — 

The Song of Home, and Children, and Love Divine. 



"And the Song of the Stars, and the Shadow, and 
Rising Sun, 
And the Song of the Street, 
Whose music is in your feet. 

And the Song of the Vine, and the House of the Vine — 
One poet has sung them all, 
And they are but one," 
Said the Song. 

THE NET 

Caught in the golden net of the poet's song, 

And held there close and long, 

How many a marvelous thing! 

A humming-bird's invisible wing; 

A rose that sent its luring fragrance through night air, 

Taken all unaware: 



SONG 445 

The star of dawn that knew not human eyes 

Dared its inviolate secrecies; 

A tear shed by an archangel who looked down 

On an unpitying town; 

A maiden's dream wherefrom she woke 

And into secret, silent tremors broke; 

And (O, ye wandering, wan and wayward feet, 

Beware that music piercing sweet — 

That all too ravishing art!) 

Caught in the golden net of the poet's song, 

(Pray Heaven there come no wrong !) 

One little, fluttering heart. 

SONG 

O PURER far than ever I ! 

Be nobler than to choose me: 
Flee from me. Sweet; I fain would die 

If thou shouldst not refuse me. 

And when I'm dead, and thou, too. Sweet, 

Because I did refuse thee; 
Perhaps our new-born souls may meet 

And know, and I not lose thee. 



SONG 

I AWOKE in the morning not knowing 

What it was that had set my heart glowing; 

Something had come to me 

That was the sum to me 

Of all human happiness — crown of life's bliss. 

Tho' drowsyhead sleep its image might blot, 

I knew it was there, tho' its shape I forgot. 

My mind was blue sky with nothing but joy in it; 



446 IN HELENA'S GARDEN 

Not even a dream of the night had employ in it; 

No cloud dimmed the blue; 

Then I said: "Shall I miss 

My nameless, new bhss?" 

When sudden it came 

Like lightning, like flame; 

And, ah, it was this — 

It was you ! 

"WHEN THE WAR FLEET PUTS TO SEA" 

When the war fleet puts to sea, 
And the great guns thunder, 

Our hearts leap up in glee 
And awe and wonder — 

When the war fleet puts to sea. 

Let it be peace, not war, 

The strong ships carry; 
Two coasts that stretch afar 

Now meet and marry — 
Let it be peace, not war. 

And let no ill befall ! 

Be kind, ye fates! 
Stern skies preserve them all 

In the stormy straits — 
O, let no ill befall. 

And if dread war shall loom 

In far-off days. 
Let the shotted cannon boom 

In prayer and praise — 
If dreadful war shall loom. 



ART 447 

Behind the bellowing guns 

That do their part, 
Let stand the nation's sons 

All pure in heart — 
Behind the bellowing guns. 

Then not in pride or hate 

Let one shot speed; 
Be righteous souls elate 

To do the deed — 
O, not in pride or hate. 

And thou, Eternal Power! 
I Bring swift the day 

When Right shall rule the hour, 
And Peace alone have sway — 
O, high Eternal Power! 

ART 

(miss GERALDINE FARRAR in " MADAMA BUTTERFLY ") 

A LITTLE, loosened leaf of painted paper 

Slow quivering down 
From a stage Nagasaki cherry-tree 

That screens a painted town. 

And flitting back and forth in silken robes 

A figure slight. 
With orient gestures, and fixt orient smile, 
And voice of pure delight. 

And every note she sang and word she spoke 

Was for her writ ; 
Not nature here, but art and artifice, 

And cunning human wit. 



448 IN HELENA'S GARDEN 

Yet when that paper petal trembled down, 

Spring thrilled the air; 
And when she sang, I knew love's hight and depth 

And passion and despair. 

IN PRAISE OF PORTRAITURE^ 

Myriads of souls from out the unknown vast 

Flash forth and swift return. Tho' something stays, — 

Remembered words and deeds, — the look they wore 

Were lost forever save for the art we praise — 

The art that holds the fleeting spirit fast: 

Afield, in household ways, at rest, a-dance; 

The sweet, companionable presence; the austere 

Demeanor, hiding a rich heart; the glance. 

Intense and penetrant, that says a soul is here. 

A soul is here, even as in life it lived. 
It wantoned, it impassioned, joyed and grieved; 
So might an angel through life's doorway peer, 
Half drawing back as if in mortal fear; 
So might a lost soul linger, leaving here 
Remembrance of the horror of its doom : 
A living soul, defiant of the tomb. 

Great were the masters of the art we praise, 
In other lands, in past and splendid days. 
What souls the chief Venetian in his art 
Makes to the eye apparent, and the heart! 
What warriors, princes, women all of grace: 
Beauty of body, loveliness of face! 
Master of color, he, well-nigh supreme, 
Who nobly drew that which before was dream! 

Glorious is Spain in the proud souls that breathe 

1 Address, presenting Cecilia Beaux to the Provost of The University 
of Pennsylvania for the degree of LL. D., February 22, 1908, 



IN PRAISE OF PORTRAITURE 449 

In that most delicate and subtle touch, — 
The art miraculous, the not too much, — 
Of him whose brows the generations wreathe 
With laurel on laurel, as the world grows old, 
And all its annals one Velasquez hold. 

And by the northern seas his art sublime 
That trembles with the tragedies of time — 
His art who knew all mysteries of light, 
Not less the heart of man; for in his sight 
No secret could endure, and on his page 
The soul's dark pathos lives from age to age. 

They live indeed, whom art has made to live — 
How real from the canvas forth they look 
And judgment seem on our own selves to give 
As we judge them. 

Miraculous art, that took 
Through all the centuries the tongue of praise, 
And worthy all honors, not for the old days 
Alone, and painters gone before — no less 
For those who dare discipleship confess 
And in the footsteps of the mighty tread. 
With modern skill the ancient mode they keep; 
On the old altar burns the authentic fire; 
Priests of the ancient faith, that never sleep; 
They, with new masters of the sacred lyre. 
And all the sons of genius, still aspire 
Purely and greatly; rendering our late time, 
Not less than that long gone, imperial, sublime ! 

Lady, shrink not that you, to-day, we name 
In the same breath- with the age-conquering fame 
Of them most glorious in a mighty line. 
Not for the living is it to assign 
Rank to the living, in the long roll of art. 
But blame us not if here we crown the intent 



450 IN 

Not less than the sincere accomplishment. 

We only know the art we see and love 

Is beautiful, intense, most subtile, rare. 

And tho' with something from our New World air 

Athrill, yet is it masterful, above 

All else, with the old mastery — not old 

But fresh forever as the dawn's new gold. 

And in your art, that follows down the line 
Of the world's noblest, — the most high, divine 
Kinship of them who painted the deep soul, — 
Glows a clear, individual attribute; 
Something whereof the praiser would be mute 
Save that he needs must tell the very whole 
And in his office utterly faithful be: 
Something that means swift vision of the truth; 
The flame of life; the flush of endless youth; 
A trait compounded all of Poesy; 
A tone most exquisite, illuminate 
With the keen sense of Beauty which even art 
Can hft above itself; a throbbing heart; 
An element that sets the noonday beam 
Vibrant with tints; that makes the little, great; 
And while the artist would another render 
Reveals his own bright spirit in radiant splendor. 

IN TIMES OF PEACE 

'T Vi^AS said : " When roll of drum and battle's roar 
Shall cease upon the earth, O, then no more 

" The deed, the race, of heroes in the land." 

But scarce that word was breathed when one small hand 

Lifted victorious o'er a giant wrong 

That had its victims crushed through ages long; 



IMPROMPTUS 451 

Some woman set her pale and quivering face, 
Firm as a rock, against a man's disgrace; 

A little child suffered in silence lest 

His savage pain should wound a mother's breast ; 

Some quiet scholar flung his gauntlet down 

And risked, in Truth's great name, the synod's frown ; 

A civic hero, in the calm realm of laws, 

Did that which suddenly drew a world's applause; 

And one to the pest his lithe young body gave 
That he a thousand thousand lives might save. 



IMPROMPTUS 

EDWARD EVERETT HALE 

Patriot, and sage, and lover of his kind — 
The love he gives a thousandfold returns: 
His is the wealth of love a great heart earns 
By giving all that heart and soul and mind. 

BARDS OF BRITAIN (iQoS) 

The poets silent and the poets fled? 

Not till these two that pluck the lyre are dead! 

He of the patriot heart and Milton's line, 

With soaring song and melody divine; 

And he who makes the old days breathe again, 

Yet sings the hour that is, and hearts of living men. 

CALVE 

Sweetness and strength, high tragedy and mirth; 
And but one Calve on the singing earth ! 



452 IN HELENA'S GARDEN 

IN A CONCERT ROOM 

Two streams of music beat upon my heart — 
That which now is; that which was silent long: 

Sacred this temple of a deathless art, 
Whose very walls thrill with remembered song. 

THE LONESOME WILD 

Lovelier, lovelier this place 

Since here she brought her maiden grace; 

Dearer far this lonesome wild 

Since here she wandered, here she smiled. 

NEW friends and OLD 

How wonderful and sweet 
New friends, as if forever known, to greet! 
The warm, new, kindred touch; the dear surprise 
To find an answer in new dawning eyes. 
But when old friends draw nearer — 

dearer, dearer! 

SHADOW AND SUN 

1 LOOKED from the window with hungry eyes 
On the day long longed for, that must be bright : 
(That day of days, of the long, long night !) 
When, O dear Shadow! by thy divining 

I knew that the morn was bright: 

I knew by the shadow the sun was shining. 

A NAVAL surgeon OF THE WAR FOR THE UNION 

Here was as loyal soul as ever drew 

The breath of battle, and the air of home: 
He duty followed, lonely and far to roam; 

To country, kindred, God, forever true. 



SONG 453 

A mother's picture 
Sweet dignity a,nd tenderness and grace, 
Devotion, and the power to draw the heart: 
This her inheritance, her dower, her art; 
All these are radiant in that mother face. 

ON A YOUNG HERO 

Too soon ? But heroes always die too soon ! 

This, this it is that makes them dear and great. 
Grant us, O kindly Heaven, the supreme boon 

To give our Hves too soon — not die too late ! 

A hero's BRIDE 

What tragic loss! but, O, what gain subHme, 
What golden memory, life-enduring pride. 

What shall it matter, brief or long the time ? 
Love of a noble soul — a hero's bride. 

to one who praised "the gay life" 

Gay ! — as the hot crater's crust all lightning-lit — 
But one tread more, and horror of the pit ! 
Gay! Yes, for a moment, and then weeping sorrow, 
With wild remorse to meet the dawning morrow. 

lyric lives 

There are more poets than the rhyming race; 
Souls beautiful of thought, and full of grace ; 
The spirit of poetry in them breathes and thrives; 
They write not poems, but lead lyric Hves. 

SONG 

A little longer still in summer suns. 
On wintry hights, and where the wild brook runs, 
To rest or wander; 



454 IN HELENA'S GARDEN 

A little longer left for human joy; 
To win and lose, — man's masterful employ, — 
To dream and ponder. 

A little longer! But, O, sweeter this 
Than any lesser grace or lowlier bliss 

In earth's wide blindness; 
A little longer left for lifting hearts, 
Healing hurt souls, for earth's most heavenly arts 

For love and kindness. 



THE SINGING RIVER 
I 

I read the poet's verses by the stream 
Where late with him I walked; the twilight gleam 
Faded, the page darkened, and from the sky 
The day, withdrawing gradual, came to die 
Slowly, into a memory and a sigh. 

II 

There as I read, the poet's lyric dream 
Mixt with the silvery clamor of the stream, 
And, tho' the night fell, and I read no more, 
Still on and on the mingled measures pour: 
" Beauty is one," they murmur o'er and o'er. 

THE SOLACE OF THE SKIES 

When fell the first great sorrow of my life, — 

He dying from whom my mortal frame was drawn, ■ 
Into the night I fled, long ere the dawn. 
Succor to bring for her, the stricken wife. 



THE WINDING PATH 455 

Then first I knew the solace of the skies, 
And that mysterious minghng of the soul 
With the still beauty of the infinite whole; 
My heart was melted, and grew strangely wise. 

I was a child then, having little lore 

Taken from books, or the wide world of men, 
But something suddenly through my soul did pour 

Beyond all thought, all dream, all hope; since then 
Nor Death, nor Life, has been the same to me : 
Can grief the spirit kill, once touched by deity? 

THE WINDING PATH 

The winding path 

Come let us follow 

Along the lane 

And down by the hollow; 

For I would fain 

The way it passes, — 

Through the long grasses, 

The meadows, the woods, — 

Seek and learn it: 

What the moods, 

What true uses 

Lead and turn it, 

What abuses 

Break it, cloak it. 

Twist it, choke it. 

Now 'tis a span; 
But onward still, 
Over the hill 
It wider grows. 
It firmer flows. 
The subtle path 



456 



Its own thought hath; 
It is more wise 
Than you or I; 
As if with eyes 
That peer and try, 
It feels its way 
Across the day. 

What little feet 
Hard have packed it! 
What great hoofs 
Gouged and wracked it ! 
Rude water-courses 
Cut across it, 
Rocks emboss it; 
A lichened cliff 
Its route enforces. 
Yet on it goes, 
And upward flows 
Through the dark pines 
In wayward lines; 
Past the birches 
Skyward it lurches: 
One more flight — 
And on the hight 
At last we stand, 
And catch the vision 
Of sky and land. 

"WHAT MAKES THE GARDEN GROW" 

What makes the garden grow 

In beauty and delight — 

A place to linger in by day or night, 

But chiefly when the long and level light 



IF, ONE GREAT DAY 457 

Makes shadows that still glow 

With burning blossoms — the heart's home 

Wherefrom our charmed feet reluctant roam. 

Not pride, nor envy, nor crude wealth 

Can bring the drooping roses health, 

Nor lift the sanguine poppies, row on row. 

Nor from their bed of green 

Make every iris spread it like a queen; 

While all along the wall 

The jeweled colors call. 

O, not from these can come the art 

That touches the deep heart. 

That makes the small blades shove 

Through the soft earth into a pictured balm above: 

Not sordid thoughts and low 

Can make the garden grow 

In beauty and delight, 

A place to linger in by day or night — 

Not these, not these, but love. 

"IF, ONE GREAT DAY" 

If, one great day, the God I see 

Aflame in blade and bush and tree. 

In the white dawn and passing sun — 

Shall I not joy in that clear sight 

And tell in song my strange delight, 

Tho' come a day when mist and cloud 

Shall the celestial presence shroud? 

O, shall I not be bold, 

And cry, "Behold!" 

Tho' swift the vision darkens and is done? 



458 

MUSIC BENEATH THE STARS 

Music beneath the Stars! remembering him 
Who music loved, and who on such a night 
Had, through white paths celestial, winged his flight, 
Hearing the chanting of the cherubim — 

Which even our ears seem now to apprehend, 
Rising and falling in waves of splendid sound 
That bear our grieving spirits from the ground 
And with eternal things lift them and blend. 

Now Bach's great Aria charms the starlit dark; 
Now soars the Largo, high angelical, 
Soothing all mortal sorrow on that breath ; 

And now, O sweet and sovereign strain! now hark 
Of mighty Beethoven the rise and fall. 
Such music 'neath the stars abolished death. 

THE BIRDS OF WESTLAND 

PRINCETON, JUNE, I908 

O BIRDS of Westland, singing on 

As blithely as of yore ! 
Do ye not know how deep he sleeps 

Behind yon closed door? 

Do ye not know that he who hailed 

Your music, dawn by dawn. 
Hath, since he barkened yesterday, 

From hearing been withdrawn? 

O happy birds! I think ye know 

He loved your joyful song, 
And therefore in the growing light 

Ye carol loud and long. 



THE VEIL OF STARS 459 

O birds! ye know he would not wish 

To hush that singing sweet, 
Tho' since he heard your music last 

That great heart ceased to beat. 



THE VEIL OF STARS 

O VEIL of Stars ! O dread magnificence ! 
Not unto man, O, not to man is given 
The power to grasp with human sight and sense 
Him, clothed upon by all the stars of heaven 

And thou, O infinite littleness! not more 
Doth infinite distance and immensity 
That Presence veil, whom fain we would adore, 
If mortals might the immortal dimly see. 

Atoms and stars alike the Eternal hide. 
Nor know we if in light or darkness dwells 
The Ever Living! No voice from out the wide 

Intense of starlight the great secret tells; 
No word or sign in earth or skies above, 
Save one — the godhead in the eyes of love. 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 

A barren stretch that slants to the salt sea's gray, 5. 

A century's summer breezes shook, 122. 

A httle English earth and breathed air, 157. 

A Httle longer still in summer suns, 453. 

A little, loosened leaf of painted paper, 447. 

A maiden sought her love in a dark room, 88. 

A melancholy, Hfe o'er-wearied man, 335. 

A night of stars and dreams, of dreams and sleep, 24. 

A power there is that trembles through the earth, 156. 

A sense of pureness in the air, 324. 

A song for you, my darhng, 277. 

A song of the maiden morn, 20. 

A soul inhuman? No, but human all, 164. 

A Sower went forth to sow, 27. 

A stranger in a far and ancient land, 250. 

A violet lay in the grass, 78. 

"A weary waste without her?" Ah, but think, 398. 

A white lie, even as the black, I learned to hate, 370. 

A woman, who has been a man's desire, 403. 

A wondrous song, 333. 

A word said in the dark, 87. 

After sorrow's night, 91. 

Agnostic! Ah, what idle name for him, 398. 

Ah, be not false, sweet Splendor! 223. 

Ah, loving, exquisite, enraptured soul, 393. 

Ah, near, dear friend of many and many years ! 328. 

Ah, no! that sacred land, 239. 

Ah, Time, go not so soon, 153. 

Alas, poor, fated, passionate, shivering thing! 278. 

All mouth, no mind: a mindless mouth in sooth, 303. 

All round the glimmering circuit of the isle, 274. 

All summer long the people knelt, 113. 

An old, bhnd poet, sitting sad and lone, 336. 

And can it be? 373. 

**And this, then, is thy love," I hear thee say, 11. 

And were that best. Love, dreamless, endless sleep! 9. 

Angelo, thou art the master; for thou in thy art, 249. 

As doth the bird, on outstretched pinions, dare, 175. 

As down the city street, 145. 

As I hobble, old and halt, 345. 

As melting snow leaves bare the mountain-side, 29. 

As soars the eagle, intimate of light, 266. 

As the long day of cloud and storm and sun, 64. 

At the dim eijd of day, 328. 



462 INDEX OF FIRST LINES 

"Back from the darkness to the light again!" 94. 

Back to my body came I in the gray of the dawning, 266. 

Back to the old place I've come home again, 412. 

Battling, through trackless lands, 'gainst savage foes, 341. 

Because Heaven's cost is Hell, and perfect joy, 52. 

Because the rose must fade, 231. 

Before the listening world behold him stand, 33. 

Behold our first great warrior of the sea, 391. 

Behold these maidens in a row, 156. 

Beneath a stone wrenched from Egyptian sands, 421. 

Beneath the deep and solemn midnight sky, 63. 

Beyond all beauty is the unknown grace, 78. 

Beyond the branches of the pine, 64. 

Brother of sorrow and mortaUty! 69. 

But, friend of mine, — and his, — I am afraid! 308. 

But then the sunset smiled, 90. 

But yesterday a world of haze, 327. 

By this road have past, 258. 

By this stairway narrow, steep, 212. 

Call him not bHnd, 278. 

Call me not dead when I, indeed, have gone, 66. 

Came to a master of song, 225. 

Cast into the pit, 175. 

Caught in the golden net of the poet's song, 444. 

Chide not the poet that he strives for beauty, 377. 

Come, soldiers, arouse ye! 116. 

Come, Spirit of Song! true, faithful friend of mine! ll2o 

Come to me ye who suffer, for to all, 8. 

Comrades, the circle narrows, heads grow white, 193. 

Dark Southern girl! the dream-like day is past, 347. 

Dear bard and prophet, that thy rest is deep, 392. 

Dear friend, who lovedst well this pleasant life ! 67. 

Dear heart, I would that after many days, 35. 

Death is a sorry plight, 224. 

Deep in the ocean of night, 148. 

Despise not thou thy father's ancient creed, 54. 

"Do you love me?" Elsie asked, 222. 

Done is the day of care, 217. 

Down in the meadow and up on the hight, 221. 

Each moment holy is, for out from God, 66. 

Each New Year is a leaf of our love's rose, 228. 

Each of us answers to a call, 125. 

Each picture was a painted memory, 260. 

Edmund, in this book you'll find, 138. 

Enchanted city, O farewell, farewell ! 348. 

Enraptured memory, and all ye powers of being, 202. 

Erewhile I sang the praise of them whose lustrous names, 161. 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 463 



Even when joy is near, 265. 

Ever when slept the poet his dreams were music, 399. 

Face once the thought: This piled up sky of cloud, 174. 

Fades the rose; the year grows old, 232. 

Fame is an honest thing, 209. 

Fixt in one desire, 267. 

Fly, thistle-down, fly, 21. 

Following the sun, westward the march of power! 125. 

Four-walled is my tower, 280. 

Friend, why goest thou forth, 106. 

Friends, beware ! 334. 

From every motion, every lovely line, 420. 

From love to love she passes on this day, 420. 

From the happy first time, 346. 

From the shade of the elms that murmured above thy birth, 205. 

Gay! — as the hot crater's crust all Hghtning-Ht, 453. 

Gentle and generous, brave-hearted, kind, 310. 

"Give me a theme," the httle poet cried, 126. 

Give thy day to Duty, 350. 

Glorious that ancient art! 212. 

Glory and honor and fame and everlasting laudation, 160. 

God of the strong, God of the weak, 356. 

Grace, majesty, and the calm bliss of life, 145. 

Great God, to whom since time began, 57. 

Great nature is an army gay, 170. 

Great Universe — what dost thou with thy dead! 68. 

Greece was; Greece is no more, 201. 

He fails who climbs to power and place, 163. 

He is gone! We shall not see again, 139. 

He knows not the path of duty, 37. 

He of the ocean is, its thunderous waves, 210. 

He pondered well, looked in his heart, 337. 

He sang the rose, he praised its fragrant breath, 335. 

He speaks not well who doth his time deplore, 270. 

He the great World-Musician at whose stroke, 49. 

He who hath the sacred fire, 367. 

Henceforth before these feet, 227. 

Her dehcate form, her night of hair, 345. 

Her voice was Hke the song of birds, 218, 

Here, by the great waters, 315, 

Here for the world to see men brought their fairest, 204. 

Here rests the heart whose throbbing shook the earth! 298. 

Here stays the house, here stay the selfsame places, 100. 

Here was as loyal soul as ever drew, 452. 

His life was generous as his life was long, 347. 

His was the love of art and song, 300. 

Home of my forebears, home of my dreaming childhood, 409. 

How curves the little river, through Glen Gilder, O Glen Gilder, 417. 



464 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 



How easily my neighbor chants his creed, 180. 

How strange the musician's memory, never wrong, 390. 

How strange to look upon the life beyond, 230. 

How to the singer comes the song? 253. 

How wonderful and sweet, 452. 

I am a woman — therefore I may not, 98. 

I am the spirit of the morning sea, 73. 

I asked me: what in all the world so odd, 421. 

I asked you to read my poem, so shameless was I, 420. 

I awoke in the morning not knowing, 445. 

I called you once to the sea, 325. 

I came to a great city. Palaces, 298. 

I care not if the skies are white, 147. 

I count my time by times that I meet thee, 32. 

I dreamed a rose; it bloomed, 440. 

I dreamed a tender and mysterious dream, 419. 

I flung a stone into a grassy field, 94. 

I give this token to the son of him, 349. 

I heard the bells of Bethlehem ring, 243. 

I knew the Rucellai had choice of villas, 295. 

I know a girl — she is a poet's daughter, 123. 

"I know," he said, no. 

I know not if I love her overmuch, 4. 

I know thou art not that brown mountain-side, 22. 

I like her gentle hand that sometimes strays, 4. 

I like your book, my boy, 133. 

I looked from the window with hungry eyes, 452. 

I love her gentle forehead, 19. 

I met a traveler on the road, 7. 

I pray thee, dear, think not alone of me, 23. 

I read that, in his sleep, the poet died, 332. 

I read the poet's verses by the stream, 454. 

I remember, 307. 

I sat in the crowded theater. The first notes, 120. 

I saw not the leaf, 223. 

I see it all; my soul the dregs hath drunk, 369. 

I thought I knew the mountain's every mood, 150. 

I thought in Egypt, Death was more than Life, 299. 

I thought in Syria, Life was more than Death, 300. 

I thought this day to bring to thee, 24. 

I will be brave for thee, dear heart; for thee, 14. 

I would that in the verse she loved some word, 140. 

I would that my words were as my fingers, 20. 

If ever flashed upon this mortal scene, 215. 

If lesus Christ is a man, 53. 

If, lest thy heart betray thee, 305. 

If, one great day, the God I see 457. 

If songs were perfume, color, wild desire, 210. 

If you wish, go be a pig, 421. 

In a far, lonely land at last I came, 401. 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 465 

In a little theater, in the Jewry of the New World, 406. 

In a night of midsummer, on the still eastern shore, 390. 

In a starry night of June, before the moon had come, 286. 

In darkness of the visionary night, 55. 

In Heaven's happy bowers, 96. 

In her young eyes the children looked and found, 153. 

In life's hard fight this poet did his part, 333. 

In Love of City here we take our stand, 349. 

In one rich drop of blood, ah, what a sea, 273. 

In that dread, dreamed-of hour, 233. 

In the child-garden buds and blows, 216. 

In the cities no longer the blaring of trumpets that summon to battle, 404. 

In the embers shining bright, 93. 

In the hall of the king the loud mocking of many at one, 45. 

In the House of State at Albany, 402. 

In the long studio from whose towering walls, 1 10. 

In the morning of the skies, 132. 

In the old farm-house Hving-room, 285. 

In the white midday's full, imperious show, 185. 

In thine anger it was said, 401. 

In this high ode with its great shadow-kings, 344. 

In this valley far and lonely, 255. 

In those clear, piercing, piteous eyes behold, 357. 

In Wordsworth's orchard, one sweet summer day, 293. 

In youth he braved a monarch's ire, 392. 

Into this musing, Memory! thou hast brought, 306. 

Is Hope a phantom ? Holds the crystal cup, 305. 

Is 't I for whom the law's brute penalty, 172. 

Is this the price of beauty! Fairest, thou, 167. 

It was but yesterday she walked these streets, 394. 

John Carman of Carmeltown, 103. 

Keep pure thy soul! 229. 

Land of the South, — whose stricken heart and brow, 114. 

Laureate of the Gentle Heart! 309. 

Let fall the ruin propt by Europe's hands! 246. 

Let not thy listening spirit be abashed, 378, 

Let other gray-beards mourn the flight of years, 420. 

Life came to me and spoke, 151. 

Life is the cost, 171. 

Life is the hammer that strikes, 344. 

Lightnings and tremblings and a voice of thunder, 389. 

Like the bright picture ere the lamp is Ut, 254. 

Lisa Romana! no mean city gave, 309. 

Lo! here another, 263. 

Lo, now it comes once more ; lo, my heart leaps again, 327. 

Lonely Pope upon his throne, 296. 

"Lost leaders" — no, they are not lost, 397. 

Love is not bond to any man, 37. 



466 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 



Love, Love, my love, 30. 

Love me not. Love, for that I first loved thee, 14. 

LoveHer, lovelier this place, 452. 

Love's look finds loveliness in all the world, 254. 

Many the names, the souls, the faces dear, 310. 

Many the songs of power the poet wrought, 129. 

Maria mia! all in white, 418. 

Me mystic? Have your way! 257. 

Men grow old before their time, 137. 

Midway the valley, fronting the flusht morn, 437. 

Mother and Child! There is no holier sight, 330. 

Mother of heroes, she — of them who gave, 331. 

Mountains and valleys! dear ye are to me, 259. 

Mountains in whose vast shadows live great names, 391. 

Mourn for his death, but for his life rejoice, 332. 

Music beneath the Stars! remembering him, 458. 

My chimney is builded, 82. 

My love for thee doth march like armid men, 12. 

My love grew with the growing night, 23. 

My songs are all of thee, what tho' I sing, 35. 

Myriads of souls from out the unknown vast, 448. 

Navies nor armies can exalt the state, 164. 

Nine years to heaven had flown, 93. 

No bugle on the blast, 207. 

No heavenly maid we here behold, 52. 

"No, no," she said, 262. 

No song-bird, singing, soaring, 285. 

No verses I can bring her, 345. 

Not alone in pain and gloom, 174. 

Not from the whole wide world I chose thee, 31. 

Not here, but somewhere, so men say, 262. 

Not his to guide the ship while tempests blow, 118. 

Not ignoble are the days of, 315. 

Not wreaths alone, for him who wins the fight, 349. 

Not yet the orchard lifted, 75. 

November winds, blow mild, 92. 

Now is the city great! That deep-voiced bell, 269. 

Now who can take from us what we have known, 62. 

Now you who rhyme, and I who rhyme, 141. 

O birds of Westland, singing on, 458. 

O, dear is the song of the pine, 220. 

O ease my heart, sad song, O ease my heart! 213. 

O, father's gone to market-town, he was up before the day, 76. 

O gates of ice! long have ye held our loved ones, 107. 

O, give me music in the twilight hour! 384. 

O glorious Sabbath sun, thou art, 307. 

O highest, strongest, sweetest woman-soul! 36. 

O, how shall I help to right the world that is going wrong! 112. 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 467 

O kindred stars, wherethrough his soul in flight, 424. 

O, love is not a summer mood, 36. 

O majesty and loveliness in one! 297. 

O man of light and lore ! 177. 

O man with your rule and measure, 131. 

O mighty river, triumphing to the sea, 34. 

O purer far than ever I, 445. 

O strange Spring days, when from the shivering ground, 32. 

O sweet wild roses that bud and blow, 22. 

O, that was the year the last of those before thee, 235. 

O thou my Love, love first my lonely soul ! 15. 

O thou whom Virgil and thy Beatrice, 281. 

O veil of stars ! O dread magnificence ! 459. 

O white and midnight sky! O starry bath! 41. 

O, whither has she fled from out the dawning and the day? 440. 

Of a dream I would sing and a river I saw in a dream, 437. 

Of all earth's shrines this is the mightiest, 247. 

Of his dear Lord he painted all the Hfe, 297. 

Of life, of death the mystery and woe, 145. 

Of my fair lady's lovers there were two, 87. 

Of other men I know no jealousy, 16. 

On that old faith I will take hold once more, 369. 

On the day that Christ ascended, 242. 

On the sad winter trees, 232. 

On the sun-dial in the garden, 434. 

On the wild rose tree, 77. 

On this day Browning died? 158. 

On this great day a child of time and fate, 341. 

Once, looking from a window on a land, 58. 

Once only. Love, may love's sweet song be sung, 17. 

Once wandering far in Asia, lo, we came, 340. 

Once when a maiden maidenly went by, 31. 

Once when we walked within a summer field, 18. 

One by one the flowers of the garden, 436. 

One day the poet's harp lay on the ground, 43. 

One deed may mar a Hfe, 230. 

One rose of song, 396. 

One Sabbath eve, betwixt green Avon's banks, 292. 

One singer in the oratorio, 387. 

One who this valley passionately loved, 323. 

Over the roofs of the houses I hear the barking of Leo, 154. 

Passion is a wayward child, 155. 

Patriot, and sage, and lover of his kind, 451. 

"Pity the bhnd!" Yes, pity those, 400. 

Queens have there been of many a fair domain, 280. 
Quietly, like a child, 158. 

Rejoice! Rejoice! 388. 

Relentless Time, that gives both harsh and kind, 374. 



468 INDEX OF FIRST LINES 

Rhymes and writers of our day, 293. 

Rich is the music of sweet instruments, 387. 

Rock's the song-soil, truly, 215. 

Rose of the world, 189. 

Rose-dark the solemn sunset, 234, 

Said the Poet unto the Seer, 41. 

Shade of our greatest, O look down to-day! 163. 

She lives in Hght, not shadow, 278. 

She saw the bayonets flashing in the sun, 114. 

Silent, silent are the unreturning ! 235. 

Since ancient Time began, 208. 

Sir Knight, thou lovest not, 305. 

Slowly to the day the rose, 361. 

So fair, so pure my lady as she doth go, 134. 

So fierce the buffets of untimely fate, 339. 

Some element from nature seems withdrawn, 351. ^ 

Some from books resound their rhymes, 226. 

Something missing from the garden ? 434. 

Something there is in Death not all unkind, 136. 

Souls live for whom the iUimitable sands, 299. 

Sow thou sorrow and thou shalt reap it, 174. 

Speed, speed, speed, 261. 

Star-dust and vaporous light, 244. 

Stay as the tree — go as the wind, 307. 

Straight soars to heaven the white magnificence, 342. 

Strolling toward Shottery on one showery day, 291. 

Such pictures of the heavens were never seen, 368. 

Summer's rain and winter's snow, 33. 

Sweet dignity and tenderness and grace, 453. 

Sweet Grecian girl who on the sunbright wall, 156. 

Sweet mouth, dark eyes, deep heart, 149. 

Sweet rose that bloomed on the red field of war, 125. 

Sweetness and strength, high tragedy and mirth, 451. 

Tell me what is this innumerable throng, 49. 

Tell you the news, 288. 

That I should love thee seemeth meet and wise, 30. 

The Angel of Life stood forth on the threshold of Birth, 379. 

The birds were singing, the skies were gay, 21. 

The bright sun has been hid so long, 291. 

The cloud was thick that hid the sun from sight, ll. 

The clouds upon the mountains rest, 327. 

The critic scanned the poet's book, 344. 

The day began as other days begin, 380. 

The days were cold, and clouded. On a day, 399. 

The evening star trembles and hides from him, 67. 

The garden still is green, 436. 

The gray walls of the garden, 431. 

The leaves are dark and large. Love, 154. 

The man of brains, of fair repute, and birth, 303. 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 469 

The marble pool, like the great sea, hath moods, 432. 

The mountain that the morn doth kiss, 60. 

The night was black and drear, 99. 

The night was dark, tho' sometimes a faint star, 3. 

The North Star draws the hero; he abides, 268. 

The paUid watcher of the eastern skies, 12. 

The poet died last night, 136. 

The poet from his own sorrow, 169. 

The poet's day is different from another, 253. 

The poets silent and the poets fled? 451. 

The purple of the summer fields, the dark, 150. 

The secret — he has learned it, 380. 

The sky is dark, and dark the bay below, 92. 

The smile of her I love is like the dawn, 25. 

The speech that day doth utter, and the night, 61. 

The spirit of adventure is, 316. 

The sun rose swift and sent a golden gleam, 6. 

The White Czar's people cry, 164. 

The wind from out the west is blowing, 89. 

The winding path, 455. 

The window's white, the candle's red, 149. 

The winds of morning move and sing, 89. 

The years are angels that bring down from Heaven, 153. 

There are four sisters known to mortals well, 120. 

There are more poets than the rhyming race, 453. 

There at the chasm's edge behold her lean, 215. 

There is nothing new under the sun, 10. 

There was a field green and fragrant with grass, 7. 

These are the sounds that I heard at the home in "The Pines," 348. 

They said, "God made him," ah, the clean, great God! 400. 

They said that all the troubadours had flown, 135. 

They who love the poets, 421. 

This actor in great Shakespeare's shadow moved, 394. 

This bronze doth keep the very form and mold, 117. 

This day, a strange and beautiful word was spoken, 275. 

This day I heard such music that I thought, 128. 

This day I read in the sad scholar's page, 269. 

This hour my heart went forth, as in old days, 264. 

This is an island of the golden Past, 245. 

This is her picture painted ere mine eyes, 6. 

This is my creed, 168. 

This is not Death, nor Sorrow, nor sad Hope, 209. 

This is the earth he walked on; not alone, 53. 

This is the end of the town that I love the best, 219. 

This is the eternal mystery of art, 388. 

This is the flower of thought, 124. 

This is the house she was born in, full four-score years ago, loi. 

This man loved Lincoln, him did Lincoln love, 310. 

This night the enchanting musicians rendered a trio of Beethoven, 330. 

This night, when I blew out my candle flame, 419. 

This timeless river — oldest of all time, 340. 



47© INDEX OF FIRST LINES 

This watery vague how vast! This misty globe, 219. 

Tho' summer days are all too fleet, 260. 

Thou art not fit to die ? — Why not ? 173. 

Thou art so used, Love, to thine own bird's song, 17. 

Thou Christ, my soul is hurt and bruised! 245. 

Thou grim and haggard wanderer, who dost look, 54. 

Thou thinkest thou hast lived, 338. 

Thou who lov'st and art forsaken, 106. 

Thou who wouldst serve thy country and thy kind, 400. 

Three blossoms in a happy garden grow, 435. 

Three messengers to me from heaven came, 61. 

Thrice is sweet music sweet when every word, 346. 

Through all the cunning ages, 272. 

Through love to hght! O, wonderful the way, 38. 

Through starry space two angels dreamed their flight, 224. 

Through the garden sunset- window, 431. 

Thunder in the north sky, 148. 

Thus did he speak, thus was he comforted, 336. 

Thy lover, Love, would have some nobler way, 16. 

Thy mind is like a ci^stal brook, 229. 

'T is night upon the lake. Our bed of boughs, 59. 

'T is twelve o' the clock, 146. 

To-day I saw the picture of a man, 5. 

To-night the music doth a burden bear, 150. 

To rest from weary work one day of seven, 55. 

To see the rose of morning slow unfold, 229. 

To send fit thanks, I would I had the art, 350. 

To the ancient races of, 318. 

To Thee, Eternal Soul, be praise! 374. 

Too much of praise for the quick, pitiless blow! 271. 

Too soon? But heroes always die too soon! 453. 

Touch not with dark regret his perfect fame, 135. 

True love to liberty is never foe, 372. 

'T was in the year when mutterings, loud and deep, ill, 

'T was said : When roll of drum and battle's roar, 450. 

'T was Sunday evening as I wandered down, 140. 

Two heroes do the world's insistent work, 339. 

Two men on thrones, or crouched behind, 301. 

Two streams of music beat upon my heart, 452. 

Two travelers met upon a plain, 26. 

Ungenerous! 353. 

Was ever music lovelier than to-night ? 386. 

Watchman! What seest thou in the New Dawn? 422. 

We are alike, and yet, — O strange and sweet! 30. 

We have come nearer, friend! 439. 

We met upon the crowded way, 96. 

Wed, thou, with sweet and silent Death, 421. 

Were true hearts bells, all breezes would be bringing, 346W 

What can love do for thee. Love ? 25. 



INDEX OF FIRST LINES 47 1 

What do you know of me, my gentlest one! 338. 

What domes and pinnacles of mist and fire, 228. 

What is a sonnet ? 'T is the pearly shell, 134. 

What is her playing like? u8. 

What is her playing like? 119. 

What makes the garden grow, 456. 

What shall we name it, 311. 

What strange, fond trick is this mine eyes are playing! 261. 

What, then, is Life — what Death? 181. 

What, then, shall make these songs of mine more real, 381. 

What think you of the Table Round, 433. 

What tragic loss! but, O, what gain sublime, 453, 

What would I save thee from, dear heart, dear heart ? 13. 

What would I win thee to? dear heart and true ! 13. 

When at hfe's last the stricken player lies, 212, 

When Christ cried: ''It is done!" 176, 

When fell the first great sorrow of my life, 454. 

When fell, to-day, the word that she had gone, 331. 

When from this mortal scene, 207. 

When I am dead and buried, then, 80. 

When I was a child joyfully I ran, 375. 

When in the golden western summer skies, 69. 

**When in the morning you wake," 443. 

When in the starry gloom, 50. 

When late I heard the trembling 'cello play, 257. 

When late in summer the streams run yellow, 81. 

When love dawned on that world which is my mind, 62. 

When on that joyful sea, 19. 

When on thy bed of pain thou layest low, 157. 

When shall true love be love without alloy, 9. 

When some new thought of love in me is born, i8. 

When that great shade into the silence vast, 206. 

When the girls come, 441. 

When the great organs, answering each to each, 211. 

When the last doubt is doubted, 28. 

When the last movement fell, I thought: Ah, me! 388. 

When the true poet comes, how shall we know him ? 132. 

When the war fleet puts to sea, 446. 

When to sleep I must, 66. 

When with their country's anger, 273. 

Where led the bright and blameless plume, 302. 

While joy-bells are ringing, 279. 

While others hedged, or silent lay, 304. 

White, pillared neck; a brow to make men quake, 170. 

Who are the men that good men most despise ? 269. 

Who builds the state ? Not he whose power, 342. 

Winds to the silent morn, 234. 

Wise Rembrandt! thou couldst paint, and thou alone, 244. 

With wild surprise, 126. 

Within the second dolorous circle where, 26. 



472 INDEX OF FIRST LINES 

Without intent, I find a book I've writ, 380. 
Would the gods might give, 230. 

Ye living soldiers of the mighty war, 115. 
Years have flown since I knew thee first, 32. 
Yes, I have heard the nightingale, 233. 
Yes, 'tis a glorious sight, 218. 
Yesterday, when we were friends, 153. 
Your pretty book doth please me, 125. 



INDEX OF TITLES 



"A barren stretch that slants to the salt sea's gray," 5. 

"A weary waste without her," 399. 

Absent Lover, The, 150. 

Actor, The, 212. 

Adele aus der Ohe, 119. 

After Many Days, 35. * 

"After sorrow's night," 91. 

After-Song: "Through love to light ! O, wonderful the way," 38. 

After-Song: To Rosamond, 189. 

Age, and the Scorner, 345. 

'*Ah, be not false," 223. 

**Ah, near, dear friend," 328. 

**Ah,-Time, go not so soon," 153. 

Aldrich, Thomas Bailey. See To T. B. A., The Poet's Sleep, The Singing 

River. 
Alice Freeman Palmer, 331. 
All in One, 31. 
"And were that best," 9. 
"Angelo, thou art the master," 249. 
Answer, The, 224. 
Art, 125, 447. 
Art and Life, 41. 
"As doth the bird," 175. 
"As soars the eagle," 266. 
At Four Score, 101. 
At Garfield's Grave, 113. 
At Luther's Grave, 298. 
At Niagara, 215. 
At Night, 92. 
Austin Dobson, To, 309, 
Autumn at Four-Brooks Farm, 285. 
Autumn Dirge, An, 213. 
Autumn Meditation, An, 64. 
Autumn Trees, 327. 
Avarice, 400. 

"Back from the darkness to the light again," 94. 

Bards, 226. 

Bards of Britain, 451. 

"Because the rose must fade," 231. 

Beethoven, 298. 

Beethoven, Anger of, 330. 

Before Sunrise, 89. 



474 INDEX OF TITLES 

"Beyond all beauty is the unknown grace," 78. 

"Beyond the branches of the pine," 64. 

Birds of Bethlehem, The, 243. 

Birds of Westland, The, 458. 

Birthday Song, A, 24. 

Blame, 401. 

Blameless Knight, The, 302. 

Blind Poet, A, 278. 

Body and Soul, 15. 

Bread upon the Waters, 335. 

Brothers, 155. 

Builders of the State, 342. 

Building of the Chimney, The, 82. 

C. H. Russell, To, 349. 

"Call me not dead," 66. 

Call to the Mountains, A, 325. 

Calve, 451. 

"Came to a master of song," 225. 

Carl Schurz, 392. 

Celestial Passion, The, 39. • 

'Cello, The, 257. 

Charleston, 167. 

Charleston, Farewell to, 348. 

Child, A, 218. 

Child-Garden, The, 216. 

Christ, The Anger of, 242. 

Christ-Child, The, 217. 

Christmas Hymn, A, 49. 

Christmas Tree in the Nursery, The, 126. 

City, The, 112, 220. 

City Club, For the, 349. 

City of Light, The, 311. 

Cleveland, Grover. See The President, Failure and Success, The Birds 

of Westland. 
"Come to me ye who suffer," 8. 
Comfort of the Trees, The, 310. 
Compensation, 379. 
Condemned, The, 173. 
Congress: 1878, iii. 
Conquered, 401. 
Contrasts, 148. 
Cost, 52. 
Cradle Song, 93. 
Credo, 180. 
Crowned Absurdities, 421. 

Dancers, The, 156. 

Dark Room, The, 88. 

Day in Tuscany, A, 295. 

"Day unto day uttereth speech," 61. 



INDEX OF TITLES 47 S 

Dead Comrade, The, ii6. 

Dead Poet, The, 300. 

Death of a Great Man, On the, 207. 

Dedicatory Inscriptions, 318. 

Demagogue, The, 303. 

Denial, 18. 

Departed Friend, To a, 67. 

Desecration, 136. 

Desert, The, 299. 

♦'Despise not thou," 54. 

Destiny, 369. 

Doubter, The, 245. 

Doubter's Sohloquy, The, 370. 

Drama, The, 120. 

Drinking Song, 106. 

E. C. S., To, 347. 

"Each moment holy is," 66. 

Early Autumn, 436. 

Easter, 50. 

Edward Everett Hale, 451. 

Egypt, 299. 

Eleonora Duse, 215. 

Elsie, 222. 

Emma Lazarus, 157. 

Emma Lazarus, To, 392. 

EssipoflF, 118. 

"Even when joy is near," 265. 

Evening in Tyringham Valley, 228. 

"Evening Star, The," 67. 

"Fades the Rose," 232. 

Failure and Success, 163. 

Fame, 209. 

Fantasy of Chopin, A, 389. 

Fate, 94. 

Father and Child, 63. 

Fire Divine, The, 365. 

Fire Divine, The, 367. 

For a Fan, 125. 

For an Album, 122. 

For the City Club, 349. 

For the Espousals of Jeanne Roumanille, of Avignon, 279. 

For the Great Pylons of the Triumphal Causeway, 316. 

For the Propylsea, 315. 

For the Stadium, 315. 

Francesca and Paolo, 26. 

Francesca Mia, 345. 

Freed Spirit, The, 69. 

Friendship, 346. 

"From love to love," 420. 



476 



INDEX OF TITLES 



Garfield's Grave, At, 113. 

George MacDonald, 393. 

Gift, The, 151. 

"Give thy day to duty," 350. 

Glave, 269. 

Glen Gilder, 417. 

Good Man, The, 338. 

Grand Jury, Before the, 403. 

Grant, Burial of, 115. 

"Gray walls of the garden, The," 431. 

Great Citizen, The, 332. 

"Great nature is an army gay," 170. 

Great Remembrance, The, 191. 

Great Remembrance, The, 193. 

"H. H.," 140. 

Handel's Largo, 211. 

Hast thou heard the Nightingale? 233. 

Hawthorne in Berkshire, 259. 

"He knows not the path of duty," 37. 

"He pondered well," 337. 

"Her delicate form," 345. 

Hero of Peace, A, 207. 

Heroic Age, The, 270. 

Hero's Bride, A, 453. 

Hesitation, 5. 

Hewitt, Abram Stevens. See The Great Citizen. 

Hide not thy Heart, 168. 

Holy Land, 53. 

Home Acres, 324. 

Homestead, The, icx). 

Hour in a Studio, An, 260. 

How Death may make a Man, 224. 

"How strange the musician's memory," 390. 

"How to the singer comes the song? " 253. 

Hymn: "God of the strong, God of the weak," 356. 

Hymn: "Great God, to whom since time began," 57. 

Hymn: "To Thee, Eternal Soul, be praise!" 374. 

"I asked you to read my poem," 420, 

"I care not if the skies are white," 147. 

"I count my time by times that I meet thee," 32. 

"I dreamed," 419. 

" I know not if I loTe her overmuch," 4. 

" I like her gentle hand that sometimes strays," 4. 

"I will be brave for thee," 14. 

Identity, 373. 

"If, One Great Day," 457. 

Ill Tidings, no. 

Illusion, 261. 



INDEX OF TITLES 477 



Impromptus : — 

A Hero's Bride, 453. 

A Mother's Picture, 453. 

A Naval Surgeon of the War for the Union, 452. 

A Theme, 126. 

A Warrior of Troy, 420. 

Age, and the Scorner, 345. 

Art, 125. 

Bards of Britain, 451. 

Calve, 451. 

Crowned Absurdities, 421. 

Edward Everett Hale, 451. 

Farewell to Charleston, 348. 

For a Fan, 125. 

For the City Club, 349. 

Francesca Mia, 345. 

Friendship, 346. 

"From love to love," 420. 

"Give thy day to duty," 350. 

"Her deHcate form," 345. 

"I asked you to read my poem," 420. 

In a Concert Room, 452. 

"Life is the hammer," 344. 

Lyric Lives, 453. 

Music and Friendship, 346. 

Nazimova, 420. 

New Friends and Old, 452. 

"Not wreaths alone," 349. 

On a Young Hero, 453. 

Sacrilege, 421. 

Shadow and Sun, 452. 

"Tell me good-by," 347. 

The Christmas Tree in the Nursery, 126. 

"The critic scanned the poet's book," 344. 

The Lonesome Wild, 452. 

The Obelisk, 421. 

"The Pines," 348. 

To a Southern Girl, 125. 

To C. H. Russell, 349. 

To E. C. S., 347. 

To F. F. C, 124. 

To Jacob A. Riis, 346. 

To " Little Lady Margaret," 421. 

To One who praised " the gay life," 453. 

To T. B. A., 125. 

To the Hero of a Scientific Romance, 421. 

To William Watson, 344. 

Two Optimists, 350. 
In a Concert Room, 452. 
" In a night of midsummer," 390. 
In Helena's Garden, 429. 



478 



INDEX OF TITLES 



In Helena's Garden, 431. 

"In her young eyes," 153. 

In Palestine and Other Poems, 237. 

In Palestine, 239. 

In Praise of Portraiture, 448. 

"In that dread, dreamed-of hour," 233. 

"In the cities," 404. 

"In the Hights," 321. 

"In the hights," 323. 

In the White Mountains, 391. 

In Times of Peace, 450. 

In Wordsworth's Orchard, 293. 

Inauguration Day, 341. 

Indirection, 223. 

Indoors, at Night, 149. 

Indoors in Early Spring, 285. 

Inscription for a Tower in Florence, 280. 

Inscription in Rome, An, 136. 

Inscriptions for the Pan-American Exposition at Buffalo, 1901, 315. 

Interlude: "As melting snow leaves bare the mountain-side," 29. 

Interlude: "The cloud was thick that hid the sun from sight," 11. 

Interlude: "The sun rose swift and sent a golden gleam," 6. 

Invisible, The, 368. 

Irrevocable, 230. 

"Is hope a phantom?" 305. 

J. R. L., 164. 

Janet, 307. 

"Jocoseria," 137. 

John Carman, 103. 

John George Nicolay, 310. 

John Henry Boner, 333. 

John Malone, 397. 

John Paul Jones, 391. 

John Wesley, 357, 

Josephine Shaw Lowell, 394. 

Karnak, 247. 

Keats, 135. 

"Keep pure thy soul," 229. 

Kelp Rock, 215. 

L. R. S., To, 309. 

La Salle, 341. 

Lady to a Knight, A, 305. 

Lament, A., 107. 

Largess, 149. 

Last Flower of the Garden, The, 436. 

Late Summer, 260. 

Law, 372. 

Leo, 154. 



INDEX OF TITLES 479 

Letter from the Farm, A., 288. 

Life, 68. 

"Life is the cost," 171. 

"Life is the hammer," 344. 

Life-Mask of Abraham Lincoln, On the, 117. 

"Light Hes on the farther hills. The," 327. 

"Like the bright picture," 254. 

Likeness in Unlikeness, 30. 

Lincoln, Abraham. See On the Life-Mask of. To the Spirt of, The Great 

Remembrance, Under the Stars, etc. 
Lion of Tyringham, The, 437. 
Listening to Music, 19. 
Lonesome Wild, The, 452. 
Longfellow's "Book of Sonnets," 140. 
Lost, 336. 

"Lost Leaders," 397. 
Love and Death, 62. 
Love, Art, and Time, 156. 
Love grown Bold, 6. 
"Love is not bond to any man," 37. 
"Love me not. Love, for that I first loved thee," 14. 
Lover's Lord and Master, The, 23. 
Love's Cruelty, 11. 
Love's Jealousy, i6. 
Love's Monotone, 17. 
Lowell, 205. 

Luther's Grave, At, 298. 
Lyric Lives, 453. 
Lyrics, 71. 

MacDowell, 388. 

Madonna of Fra Lippo Lippi, 52. 

Marble Pool, The, 432. 

Master-Poets, The, 49. 

Memorial Day, 114. 

Memory, 306. 

Memory of Rubinstein, A, 210. 

Meridian, 227. 

Michael Angelo's Aurora, 297. 

Michael Angelo's Slave, 145. 

Midsummer Meditation, A, 174. 

Midsummer Song, A, 76. 

Mirror, The, 30. 

Modern Rhymer, The, 141. 

Modjeska, 120. 

Monument by Saint-Gaudens, A, 209. 

Moonlight, 146. 

Morning, Noon, and Night, 60. 

Mors TriumphaHs, 45. 

Mother and Child, 330. 

"Mother of heroes," 331. 



48o 



INDEX OF TITLES 



Mother's Picture, A, 453. 

Motto for a Tree-Planting, 307. 

Music and Friendship, 346. 

Music and Words, 128. 

Music at Twilight, 384. 

Music beneath the Stars, 458. 

Music in Darkness, 328. 

Music in Moonlight, 386. 

Music in Solitude, 255. 

"My love for thee doth march like arm^d men," 12. 

"My songs are all of thee," 35. 

Name, A, 310. 

Napoleon, 164. 

Naval Surgeon of the War for the Union, A, 452. 

Nazimova, 420. 

Net, The, 444. 

New Day, The, i. 

New Friends and Old, 452. 

New Poet, A, 334. 

New Politician, The, 304. 

New Soul, A, 229. 

New Troubadours, The, 135. 

New World, A, no. 

New Year, 228. 

Niagara, At, 215. 

"Night of stars and dreams, A," 24. 

Night Pasture, The, 286. 

Night Song, A, 154. 

"Nine years," 93. 

" * No, no,' she said," 262. 

Noel, 244. 

Non Sine Dolore, 181. 

North to the South, The, 114. 

"Not here," 262. 

**Not wreaths alone," 349. 

November Child, A, 92. 

**0 glorious Sabbath sun," 307. 

"O, love is not a summer mood," 36. 

"O mighty river, triumphing to the sea," 34. 

"O sweet wild roses that bud and blow! " 22. 

Obelisk, The, 421. 

Obscuration, 419. 

Ode: "I am the spirit of the morning sea," 73. 

Ode: "In the white midday's full, imperious show,'* 185. 

Of Henry George, 269. 

Of One who neither Sees nor Hears, 278. 

Old Faith, The, 369. 

Old House, The, 409. 

Old Master, The, 297. 



INDEX OF TITLES 4^1 



On a Certain Agnostic, 398. 

On a Portrait of Servetus, 54. 

On a Woman seen upon the Stage, 278. 

On a Young Hero, 453. 

On being asked for a Song, 308. 

On reading of a Poet's Death, 332. 

On the Bay, 219. 

On the Death of a Great Man, 207. 

On the Life-Mask of Abraham Lincoln, 117. 

"On the wild rose tree," 77. 

"Once only," 17. 

"Once when we walked within a summer field," 18. 

One Country — One Sacrifice, 273. 

"One deed may mar a Hfe," 230. 

**One rose of song," 396. 

Ottoman Empire, The, 246. 

Our Elder Poets, 139. 

Paderewski, 210. 

Parthenon by Moonlight, The, 245. 

Passing of Christ, The, 177. 

Passing of Joseph JefiFerson, The, 351. 

"Pathetic Symphony, The," 388. 

"Pines, The," 348. 

Pity the BHnd, 400. 

Poems and Inscriptions, 283. 

Poet and his Master, The, 43. 

Poet's Fame, The, 129. 

Poet's Protest, The, 131. 

Poet's Question, A, 381. 

Poet's Secret, The, 380. 

Poet's Sleep, The, 399. 

Porto Fino, 123. 

Portrait of Servetus, On a, 54. 

"Power there is, A," 256. 

Prelude for "A Book of Music," 382. 

Prelude: "O white and midnight sky! O starry bath! " 41. 

Prelude: "The night was dark, tho' sometimes a faint star," 3. 

President, The, ii8. 

Prisoner's Thought, The, 172. 

Pro Patria, 161. 

Proof of Service, 400. 

Recognition, 55. 

Reform, 112. 

Remembrance of Beauty, 254. 

Resurrection, 266. 

Rhyme of Tyringham, A, 221. 

Riddle of Lovers, A, 87. 

River, The, 22. 

River Inn, The, 99. 



482 



INDEX OF TITLES 



Robert Gould Shaw, 267. 

Rosamond, To, 189. 

Rose of Dream, A, 440. 

** Rose-dark the solemn sunset," 234. 

Sacred Comedy in Florence, A, 296. 

Sacrilege, 421. 

Saint-Gaudens, Augustus. See A Monument by Saint-Gaudens, Robert 

Gould Shaw, Under the Stars, Music beneath the Stars. 
Sanctum Sanctorum, 150. 
Scorn, 269. 
Seasons, The, 32. 
Serenade, 148. 
Shadow and Sun, 452. 
** Shall we not praise the living?" 353. 
Shelley's **Ozymandias," 340. 
Sheridan, 158. 
Sherman, 160. 

Silence of Tennyson, The, 206. 
Singer of Joy, The, 335. 
Singing River, The, 454. 
Sir Walter Scott, 293. 
'*So fierce the buffets," 339. 
Solace of the Skies, The, 454. 
"Something missing from the garden," 434. 
Song: "A little longer still in summer suns," 453. 
Song: *'I awoke in the morning not knowing," 445. 
Song: "I love her gentle forehead," 18. 
Song: **If, lest thy heart betray thee," 305. 
Song: "Love, Love, my love," 30. 
Song: "Maria Mia," 418. 
Song: "My love grew," 23. 
Song: "Not from the whole wide world," 31. 
Song: "O purer far than ever I! " 445. 

Song: "O whither has she fled from out the dawning and the day ? " 440. 
Song: "The birds were singing," 21. 
Song: "Years have flown," 32. 
Song for Dorothea, across the Sea, A, 277. 
Song of a Heathen, The, 53. 
Song of a Song, The, 443. 
Song of Early Autumn, 81, 
Song of Early Summer, A, 75. 
Song of Friendship, A, 439. 
**Song of the maiden morn. A," 20. 
Song of the Road, A, 261. 
Song's Answer, The, 257. 
Songs, 231. 
Sonnet, The, 134, 
Sonnet of Dante, A, 134. 
Soul, The, 61. 
Soul lost, and found, A, 263. 



INDEX OF TITLES 483 



•'Sow thou sorrow," 174. 

Sower, The, 27. 

"Spare me my dreams," 374. 

Spirit of Abraham Lincoln, To the, 163. 

Spring Surprise, 327. 

Stairway, The, 212. 

Star in the City, The, 145. 

Stratford Bells, 292. 

Stricken Player, The, 212. 

''Strolling toward Shottery," 291. 

Summer begins, 291. 

"Summer's rain and winter's snow," 33. 

Sun-Dial, The, 434. 

Sunset from the Train, 90. 

Sunset Window, The, 431. 

"Supper at Emmaus, The," 244. 

Sword of the Spirit, The, 271. 

Syria, 300. 

Table Round, The, 433. 

"Tell me good-by," 347. 

Temple of Art, A, 361. 

Temptation, 174. 

"The day began as other days begin," 380. 

"The north star draws the hero," 268. 

"The palHd watcher of the eastern skies," 12. 

"The poet from his own sorrow," 169. 

"The poet's day," 253. 

" The smile of her I love," 25. 

"The woods that bring the sunset near," 89. 

"The years are angels," 153. 

Theme, A, 126. 

"There is nothing new under the sun," 10, 

" There 's no place like the old place," 41 2. 

"This hour my heart went forth, as in old days," 264. 

Thistle-Down, 21. 

"Thou thinkest thou hast lived," 338. 

Thought, A, 58. 

Three Flowers of the Garden, 435. 

"Through all the cunning ages," 272. 

"Thy lover, Love, would have some nobler way," 16. 

"Thy mind is like a crystal brook," 229. 

To a Departed Friend, 67. 

To a Southern Girl, 125. 

To a Young Poet, 132. 

To an English Friend, 138. 

To Austin Dobson, 309. 

To C. H. Russell, 349. 

To E. C. S., 347. 

To Emma Lazarus, 392. 

To F. F. C, 124. 



484 



INDEX OF TITLES 



To Jacob A. Riis, 346. 

To L. R. S., 309. 

To **Little Lady Margaret," 421. 

To Marie Josephine Girard, Queen of the Felibres, 280. 

To One Impatient of Form in Art, 377. 

To One who praised "the gay life," 453. 

♦*To rest from weary work," 55. j 

To T. B. A., 125. 

To the Hero of a Scientific Romance, 421. 

To the Poet, 378. 

To the Spirit of Abraham Lincoln, 163. 

To William Watson, 344. 

"To-night the music doth a burden bear," 150. 

Tool, The, 303. 

Tower of Flame, The, 204. 

Tragedy of To-day, A, 406. 

Traveler, The, 7. 

Twelfth of December, The, 158. 

Twenty-third of April, The, 157. 

Two Heroes, 339. 

Two Optimists, 350. 

Two Valleys, 218. 

Two Worlds and Other Poems, 143. 

Two Worlds, 145. 

Two Years, 235. 

Under the Stars, 424. 
Undying Light, 69. 
Unknown, The, 230. 
Unknown Singer, The, 387. 
Unknown Way, The, 26. 
Unreturning, The, 235. 

Valley of Life, The, 375. 
Valley Road, The, 258. 
Vanishing City, The, 202. 
Veil of Stars, The, 459. 
Venus of Milo, The, 145. 
Violet, The, 78. 
VioHn, The, 33. 
Vision, A, 274. 
Visions, 175. 
Voice, The, 387. 
Voice of the Hight, The, 437. 
Voice of the Pine, The, 59 
Voyager, The, 106. 

Wagner, 388. 

War, 301. 

Warrior of Troy, A, 420. 

Washington at Trenton, 208. * 



INDEX OF TITLES 485 



Washington Monument, The, 342. 

Washington Square, 219. 

Watchman on the Tower, The, 422. 

**We met upon the crowded way," 96. 

Weal and Woe, 36. 

Week's Calendar, A, 228. 

"What can love do for thee. Love P" 25. 

"What makes the garden grow," 456. 

"What man hath done," 336. 

"What would I save thee from ?" 13. 

"What would I win thee to?" 13. 

"When love dawned," 62. 

"When the girls come to the old house," 441. 

"When the last doubt is doubted," 28. 

"When the true poet comes," 132. 

"When the war fleet puts to sea," 446. 

"When to sleep I must," 66. 

"When with their country's anger," 273. 

Where Spring began, 399. 

White and the Red Rose, The, 96. 

"White City, The," 201. 

White Czar's People, The, 164. 

"White, pillared neck," 170. 

Whisperers, The, 402. 

Winding Path, The, 455. 

"Winds to the silent morn," 234. 

Winter Twilight in Provence, A, 250. 

Wintry Heart, The, 232. 

With a Cross of Immortelles, 176. 

With a Volume of Dante, 281. 

Woman seen upon the Stage, On a, 278. 

Woman's Thought, A, 98. 

"Wondrous Song, A," 333. 

Word of the White Czar, The, 275. 

"Word said in the dark. A," 87. 

Words in Absence, 20. 

Words without Song, 7. 

World's End, The, 340. 

Written on a Fly-Leaf of "Shakespeare's Sonnets," 9. 

** Yesterday, when we were friends," 153. 
Young Poet, The, 80. 
Youth and Age, 133. 



CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS 
U . S . A 



3'^77-7 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



DD0EimD5t.t3 









